Date: Sun, 5 Aug 2018 07:12:10 +0000 (UTC)
From: Tyler Camp <tylersaysgo@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Jock and the Fool Chapter 7

Hey guys, here is the next chapter. I am not thrilled with the way this
one turned out, but it was necessary for the development of the story.
Please feel free to send your thoughts to Tylersaysgo@yahoo.com


Two years passed. I had not spoken to Mitch in two years. Someone I used
to spend every waking moment with, now gone from life, as if he never
existed. The only reminder of him being someone I used to know was the
passing glance in the hallway at school or catching a glimpse of him
driving through town. We grew up in a small town, one of those towns you
see in movies in the sense that everyone knows everyone and their
stories. The kind of town where the population of cows outnumbers the
people 5:1. The current census: 764. Soon to be 763 in one year when I
graduate from this place and never look back.

I had big plans for myself. I was going to go to audition for The
Juilliard School in the winter of my senior year and attend in the fall
for college. The Juilliard School is a world renown college for arts
education located in New York City.  It is incredibly competitive, and
admission is difficult and highly coveted. Only the best get in. The
Juilliard School had been my dream for as long as I can remember. I
remember Christine, my piano instructor, talking to my mom as a kid and
how I possessed a gift far beyond someone of my age. Since then my
parents and Christine have nurtured my gift and encouraged me to pursue
The Juilliard School.

Mitch also knew of my dreams to attend The Juilliard School and was my
biggest supporter. I would talk endlessly about my hopes for getting an
audition and my fear of messing it up. He would always listen until the
end of my rambling and look at me softly and tell me that he knew I was
always destined for things bigger than this town..but that?s over now.

Since the day in the cafeteria, I retreated into myself and
single-mindedly focused on getting out and into Juilliard. The events of
that day were no longer the story everyone talked about, that time had
come and gone. However, remnants of that day still existed. I see it
every day in the pity on Andrew?s face. I see it in the angry glances from
Mitch. I see it in the awful grey and black speckled flooring of the
cafeteria.

It was now October of my junior year in high school. I was supposed to be
making some of the best memories of my life. Going to the football games,
staying out late riding around with friends, drinking at bonfires, stuff
normal teenage kids did. I couldn?t bring myself to care about any of it.
Since that day, I was a loner. All of my other friends I knew by
association was due to being inseparable from Mitch. Those friends
disappeared along with Mitch after that day.

I was fine being alone. It was safe, and no one could have any power over
me. Juliette still tries to maintain a semblance of a relationship, but I
keep her emotionally distant, and at the periphery of my life.
Truthfully, it was because she wanted to talk about Mitch, and I didn?t.
That part of my life was over. It hurt too much to think about, and I was
done putting myself through that. I tormented myself over the last two
years thinking about Mitch. Sorrow turned to regret. Regret turned to
rage. Rage turned to defeat. He had made himself perfectly clear, and I
needed to stop overanalyzing what this glance meant and what that comment
meant. I let it all go and tried to move on with my life.

For a few months after the events in the cafeteria, Andrew tried to
corner me to talk, but I managed to avoid him each time, making my
intention clear. Andrew wasn?t a bad guy, he was the person who prevented
me from most likely receiving a broken nose and shattered orbital socket
that day in the cafeteria by holding Mitch back. Andrew?s problem was that
he pitied me. I could see it on his face every time he looked at me.
Andrew compared me to his older gay brother who was bullied in high
school, resulting in his families move to our school. I wasn?t his brother,
and I didn?t need his damned pity.

Orchestra was still my first period. Our high school divided classes up
into four periods, each laster 90 minutes with a 30-minute lunch between
period three and four. It became routine for me to arrive at school at
7:30am to avoid running into Mitch walking into school. Mitch was a
notoriously later sleeper and was never early to anything, and I built my
routine to contrast his to minimize interactions. With the extra time, I
warmed up for class by playing much more difficult songs than we played
in the orchestra due to everyone's varying abilities on their respective
instruments. I had a venue to demonstrate my talents at recitals and gave
other students the ability to learn and grow during class time. Over the
last two years, my preference in music to perform had evolved into
preferring minor keys, flats, and dissonant sounds melodies.
Subconsciously, I believe it was mirroring the tempest raging inside me.
I enjoyed taking pleasant songs in major keys and transposing them to
minor keys, and making them dark and haunting.

I had been messing around with Bach?s ?Minuet in G?and finally transposed the
whole thing to a minor key making it a more haunting piece and had been
practicing that when Mrs. Freeman walked in; her messenger bag
haphazardly on her shoulder, coffee mug in one hand, and a stack of sheet
music cradled in the other arm.

?That?s not how that was written,? she smirks at me while looking at me over
her glasses. Mrs. Freeman was a middle-aged woman with frizzy blonde hair
that usually housed her conducting baton. She was an accomplished
violinist in her younger years, but a car accident causing nerve damage
to her left hand had robbed her of her dream to be a concert violinist at
the age of twenty-six.

?Iknow, I got bored with the original,? I say giving her a half-smile while
shutting my music notebook that I kept my transposed pieces in. Mrs.
Freeman and I had a great relationship. She would give me the music for
the school concerts the orchestra performed every winter and spring for
friends and family of the orchestra kids, and I would dutifully play them
to accompany the orchestra. She had already given me the music for this
semesters winter concert so when she dropped a thin red folder on top of
the piano holding more sheet music I looked up at her with a questioning
face.


?The principal has asked me to schedule a performance next Friday for the
student body to showcase the arts when the mayor visits for the
homecoming pep-rally. He needs more students to enroll in arts programs
to receive more funding for the school from the state, no doubt to use
for the sacred sports program. God forbid a sliver of that funding
actually go to the arts,? she said, disdain evident in her tone.

I pick up the folder and open it and glance at the music kept inside. I
snort with amusement and look back up to her.

?No disrespect Mrs. Freeman, but I don?t the violins are going to be able to
pull this one off in a week. I would even go as far to say ever,? I say
raising my eyebrow at her while shutting the folder and handing it back
to her.

She doesn?t take the folder back. Instead, she says, ?Which is why they aren?t
going to play it. You are,? I stare at her blankly with the folder still in
my hand outstretched toward her.

?Ibeg your pardon?? I say, hoping I misheard her.

?If he wants a showcase of talent, you are the best candidate for it. Which
is why you will be playing Rimsky-Korsakov?s ?Flight of the Bumblebee,?? she says
as it?s the most obvious thing in the world turning to walk away. I stumble
out from behind the piano to follow after her.

?Mrs. Freeman, I can?t. Why can?t the band play some dumb football rally song,
after all, it is a pep rally,? I say in a pleading tone following behind
her as she turned the corner of the entrance into the music room into her
office.

?Because my husband has a hard enough time managing to keep the snare
drummers from piercing their belly buttons with drumsticks, much less put
on a performance to get the school more arts funding,? she says matter of
factly, moving to turn on her computer.

Mrs. Freeman?s husband was the band director, and while our band was a
spirited group of kids, they were well let?s say, odd.

?Can?t they just, I don?t know, play the out of tune ACDC song like they
normally do at the football games? Everyone else seems to not care that
its off pitch and cliche, why would the mayor?? I say, my tone increasingly
rising to the realm of desperation.

?God, it really is an awful song,? she says looking up above her computer at
her bulletin board, not really speaking directly to me, but more to
herself.

?The orchestra can play ?Spring? by Vivaldi, that is a popular song most people
know when they hear and an impressive violin part. Certainly more than
enough to convince the mayor to advocate for the funding,? I say trying to
bargain.

?Jason is a great principle violinist for a high school orchestra, but you
and I both know he struggles with the solo,? she says countering my idea.

?But-,? I begin to say, but she cuts me off.

?Besides it's not the mayor we need to impress, it's his wife. She is
heavily involved in the arts and a musician herself. She is the key to
securing dedicated funding to our program, and I need you to demonstrate
how important the arts are in schools,? she says standing up and turning
around to thumb through music lying on the shelf behind her.

I sigh, realizing this was a losing battle. I place my thumb on one
temple, and middle finger on the other and begin to massage away the
frustration building.

?Fine, I?ll do it, but I?ll need some orchestra support, so it's not weird,? I
say turning to leave her office.

?Where ever will I find one of those on short notice,? she calls after me as
I walk away.

I throw my hand up in dismissal as I continue to walk away. ?Yeah, yeah.?

I go back out to the piano to take a look at the sheet music for ?The
Flight of the Bumblebee?, of course, I was familiar with it, it is one of
those songs that always impresses when you play it due to quick tempo,
technical skill, and the unyielding onslaught of sixteenth notes. It is
also a particular crowd pleaser on the piano because it involves a lot of
over and under hand crosses and quick fingerwork. I am not sure how it
will fit into a pep rally, but it will definitely do the job on
impressing the mayor's wife and possibly securing more funding for the
music program. Thankfully I was already intimately familiar with the
piece so it wouldn?t require a whole lot practice, so I put it away and
pull out the music for class and get set up to start the day.

Every afternoon before class dismisses for the end of the school day the
principal comes over the intercom and does afternoon announcements, which
is essentially just a rehash of the morning announcements. I was putting
my advanced placement U.S history textbook in my backpack when I heard
the principal start discussing next weeks pep rally. I cringed in
anticipation of what was to follow.

?As most of you know, next Friday is our homecoming game against Reynolda,
our boys have an undefeated season and plan to continue that streak,? I
rolled my eyes sinking down in my desk chair.

?The annual pep rally is going to be held at 2pm in the gymnasium. Since
our boys have an undefeated season, the mayor will be in attendance along
with a few media outlets. We want to show that our school spirit runs
deep, so we have lined up performances from the dance team performing
their incredible routine that placed at nationals last year. The color
guard performing their visual masterpiece, Love Lies Bleeding, and the
orchestra performing Flight of the Bumblebee paying tribute to school
mascot, go Hornets! We want to show everyone we are a diverse student
body and value all aspect of education,? he droned on.

I exhaled loudly and flopped my head down on my desk with a thud waiting
patiently for the bell to signal the end of the day as principal Devine
wrapped up the end of day announcements. I?ve managed to spend the last two
years with minimal interaction with the football team, and with Mitch.
Now here I was going to center stage celebrating the damned football team
of which Mitch was the captain.

Over the last two years, Mitch only became more intimidating with his
hulking frame. He pretty much stopped growing vertically our sophomore
year at about 6?1, but he definitely has put on way more muscle and
resembles his dad a lot more with his body. Mitch?s dad was a competition
bodybuilder when we were kids, and placed multiple times. He doesn?t
compete anymore but owns the town gym and trains clients from the
surrounding towns, mostly bored housewives.

Mitch still keeps his dark blonde hair cut in the military crew cut but
keeps it a little longer on the top for the days he puts product in it.
Morgan and Mitch are still together, but with Morgan being a senior and
leaving in eight months for college, everyone's favorite line of
communication, the rumor mill, says that they are on the rocks. I may not
be privy to Mitch?s personal life anymore, but I do still have to see him
around the school and see him being praised as some football legend. I
can?t really escape him in a town of 764 people. His face is always in the
newspaper year round because he is the captain of the football team, and
in the offseason plays baseball and lacrosse. The shops downtown have his
jersey number, 14, the number I picked out all those years ago, displayed
in the windows of their businesses. His mom and my mom are still best
friends and talk almost daily.

While Mitch looked like he was ramping up for the amateur Mr. Olympia
competition, I stayed on the lean side. I now stood at about 5?11? and had
put on a bit of weight, and muscle. I had more of a lithe body type, very
similar to my dad?s. I developed an affinity for swimming since I had a lot
of free time over the last two years due to, you know, my best friend
punching me in the face and not being able to generally stand the sight
of me.

The bell rung and I snapped my head up off the desk and grabbed my
backpack and headed out of the door to the junior parking lot. As I
approached my car, I noticed a small figure leaning next to it. I walk a
little closer and recognize the small frame and long dark brown hair,
Juliette.

?Hey, do you mind if I catch a ride with you today? Heather left early, and
I couldn?t get a hold of Mitch,? she said sheepishly.

?Of course, hop in,? I try to say as casual as possible.

She opens the passenger door and slings her backpack into the floorboard
in one smooth motion, and then proceeds to do a small jump onto the
running boards along the side of my SUV and then slides into the
passenger seat tucking one leg under her as she does so.

We sit in comfortable silence until we get out of the parking lot traffic
and head onto the main road towards town. Another moment passes before I
hear, ? Flight of the Bumble Bee, huh??

I dramatically tilt my head back and release an annoyed groan. She gives
me a small giggle.

?It was not my idea,? I said grimly. ?Ivoted for the band give their thrilling
off-key rendition of ACDC?s ?Back in Black,? I say. It was Juliette's turn to
groan.

?God, could this town get more southern. Mom says they?ve been playing it
since she was in high school,? I laugh, and we fall into another
comfortable silence. As I pull into her driveway, she starts gathering
her things, and before she opens the door to get out she turns to me,

?Do you want to come in and hang out? I feel like we haven't done that in
forever,? she says hopefully.

I glance up and see Mitch?s truck in the driveway. I give her a small frown
and a soft,

?Maybe next time.?

She sighs a little but gets out of the car and before shutting the door
she turns to me and says,

?You should be the bigger person and reach out to him.?

I draw in a long breath and exhale before saying,

?He made his thoughts about me very clear.?

?But he is your best friend, this is ridicu-,? she starts, but I cut her off.

?No, he was my best friend. No matter how many times you try to appeal to
the sentiment of our friendship, that friendship is gone. It was gone
when I was on the ground with blood pouring from my nose. I appreciate
your concern, but he made his choice,? I say with as much resolve as I can
muster.

She gives a frustrated huff and slams the door and walks away muttering
under her breath, ?damn idiots.?

When I arrive home, I head up to my room to start my homework. I turn on
my computer and AOL Instant Messenger automatically signs me in. I
minimized the messenger window and began typing out a rough draft for an
essay on the Monroe Doctrine for A.P. U.S. History. As I am contemplating
the complexities of the Monroe Doctrine, I hear the familiar sound of the
door opening from my computer speakers indicating someone on my friend's
list had signed on. I pull up my friends list to see Mitch had signed
into his account. Back in middle school, I had customized my friends list
layout to have Mitch in his own category labeled ?Sk8er Boi.? I stare at my
computer screen and at the screen name listed below the Sk8er Boi title,
?TheIncredibleMitch.? It was a reference to The Incredible Hulk.

When we were kids, we loved comics. I was obsessed with Doctor Strange,
and Mitch was a fan of The Avengers series. One summer night we had
stayed up well past one in the morning reading our comics and talking
about the events of the series despite my mom?s warning for us not to be up
past midnight. Mitch had asked me that night which Avenger did I think he
was most like. I remember seeing the excitement and anticipation as he
awaited my answer.

?Mmmm, The Hulk, I think,? I say finally.


?The Hulk?? He asks confused.

?Yeah, you grew like 2 feet overnight and are twice my size,? I say giving
him a smirk. He looked at me for a moment before starting, ?You little punk-?

I sprang up off the floor and ran to the bed and jumped up on it and
positioned myself in the corner so I could spring out away from him when
he came after me. He ran after me and stopped at the edge of the bed,

?You?re trapped, puny human,? he says in a Hulk voice.

He jumps up on the bed, and I try to dart away, but he catches me by the
arm and brings me crashing down onto the bed laughing. He begins to grab
at my incredibly sensitive and ticklish sides,

?Hulk Smash,? he says in his really awful Hulk imitation voice making me
laugh louder. We both were collapsed in a pile of laughter on my bed when
my bedroom door opened and my mom appeared,

?I?mgoing to Hulk smash both of you if you don?t get your butts into bed right
now,? She said with a wry smile on her face.

?Yes Directory Fury,? I say with a mock salute sending Mitch off into another
fit of giggles.

I thought on the memory fondly and how when we were 13 and got AOL
Instant Messenger he used that reference as his screen name. At the time
it made my heart swell, but now three and a half years later, it just
made my chest ache.

I right click his screen name bringing up the action list. I guide the
mouse down the list until the action ?block user? was highlighted. I stare at
it for a moment, the memory of the night with the comic books in my head
giving me a bit of hesitation, and then the memory is gone, and all I can
see is the look on Mitch?s face as I looked up at him from the ground that
day in the cafeteria.

I clicked on the selected action.


A door closing sound immediately resonated from my computer speakers
indicating Mitch?s screen name was gone, I would no longer see
?TheIncredibleMitch? as my Sk8er Boi any more. I turned off my computer and
got into my bed hoping I would fall asleep early to get those memories
out of my head.

The days leading up until the pep rally before the homecoming game drug
by at a glacial pace. I just wanted to get this over with. When Friday
finally arrived, I struggled to find the willpower to get out of the bed.
I was still in bed way past my alarm, until my mom finally came into my
room to get me up.

?Well this is disappointing, I was hoping to get to throw water on you, but
I see you?re already up,? she says heading over to my bed.

?Ha, ha Mom,? I say sarcastically.

?Whats the matter, honey? You?ve never gotten jitters BEE-fore a performance,?
she says accentuating the bee in reference to the song I would be
performing today.

I gave her an unamused glare.

?Aw come on, don?t BEE like that,? she says again accenting the be.

I throw my pillow at her, which she dodges and laughs and takes a seat on
the side of my bed next to me.

?In all seriousness what is going through that mind of yours,? she asks.

?I?mjust anxious about performing in front of everyone. Ever since what
happened with Mitch, I have kind of kept to myself and laid low. Now here
I am going to be performing one of the most difficult songs to play on
the piano for the sake of school spirit with everyone including Mitch
watching and a damn idiot dressed in a bee mascot outfit dancing around
the gym, no less,? I say.

The day after the events in the cafeteria, I told my parents what
happened. It was a little difficult to hide with a bruise covering half
my face. I tried telling the story without telling them what provoked him
to hit me, but it was no use. I came out to my parents and told them what
I had said to Mitch. They of course, already knew I was gay and had been
in love with Mitch.

?Oh honey, you looked at that boy like he was a tall glass of water and you
just came out of the Sahara Desert,? my mom had said

My dad gave me a hug and a kiss on top of the head and asked if he wanted
me to go talk to his parents. I thought about it for a second but
ultimately decided against it. What would it do?

?Thanks, dad, but that?s not necessary. It's over and done,? I said sadly.

My mom brought me out of my thoughts again by asking if I wanted to skip
school today. I look at her like she had just slapped me across the face
and called a homophobe.

?Iam not running away. I told Mrs. Freeman I would do it, and I?m going to
keep my word,? I said

?There he is, right on time. Now get your ass up and at em? before you?re late,?
she said in a sing-song voice walking out of my room. I smiled and got up
and got dressed.

Normally for a performance, I would wear dress clothes as that is kind of
an unspoken rule in musical performances, but that felt a little weird
for performing for my peers at a pep rally. I decided to go with a pair
of fitted jeans and a black V-neck shirt. After getting dressed, I
hurried downstairs and grabbed my backpack and jumped into my SUV and
headed down the road to school.

In orchestra, we rehearsed the piece twice as a group before Mrs. Freeman
dismissed the others to socialize and prepare for the performance later
this afternoon. She came over to the piano where I was sitting packing up
my music.

?Thank you for doing this for me, it?s not every day a music teacher gets the
opportunity to directly influence program funding,? she says

?It's not a problem Mrs. Freeman, I am happy to help, I just don?t
particularly like my audience, and they don?t like me,? I say giving a shrug.
She places her hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze before heading
out of the room and into her office.

I went through the rest of the school day with a sense of dread in my
stomach. I have tried to go the last two years without drawing attention
to myself and just did my best to fade into the background. Now I am
going to go take one of the most sophisticated classical songs ever
written and turn it into some cheap dog and pony show in the name of
school spirit. I sighed pushing my thoughts away and focused on getting
through the day.

I arrived at the gymnasium around 1:30 to get everything set up for the
pep rally at 2pm. The dance team was already there rehearsing in the
middle of the floor. The color guard was off to the left side of the gym
while chair had been set up on the right side with the grand piano in
front diagonally to where Mrs. Freeman would stand to conduct. Randy
Stein, our class clown, was dressed up in the hornet mascot costume
harassing one of the dancers with the floppy stinger end of the costume
as she practiced. I helped set up the music stand for the strings, and
the students began pouring into the gym in droves.

I took my place at the piano when principal Devine stepped up to the
podium signaling that the rally was about to begin.

?Students! Welcome to the homecoming pep rally!? He said animatedly.

The student body roared and slammed their feet on the floor of the
bleachers and made buzzing noises as they did so.

?Our Hornets have an undefeated season so far, and we plan to keep it that
way!? He continued.

?Now we have a special rally lined up for you today, our schools performing
arts department is a robust and talented bunch and are here to give us a
show before tonight's big game!? He said enthusiastically. The students
clapped, but the confusion was evident on their face. Standard routine
for homecoming rallies was that the band played a selection of their 1980?s
glam band excerpts, and the dance team choreographed a little number and
a bit of ?oorah? thrown it and that was it.

?Our lovely ladies of the bee hive are going to kick us off with their
nationally ranked dance routine,? he said, and the students cheered
enthusiastically. Our school mascot was the Hornets, so our dance team
was cleverly called the bee hive, which honestly didn?t make sense to me;
hornets and bees had incredibly different nest structures.  I had to give
the school props for taking a hill and turning it into a mountain though.

The music came on, and the dance team delivered an impressive dance
routine with practiced ease and remarkable athleticism. I do not attend
many of the football games or rallies anymore, and I had forgotten how
incredible they were. When they finished the crowd cheered, and the girls
headed off from center stage.
Principal Devine came back to the podium and gave a few more ?inspiring?
words to the crowd before introducing the color guard.

?Here at Northwood, we don?t do anything without 100% commitment, from our
academics to our arts. We are proud to present the Northwood High Color
Guard and their award-winning routine, ?Love Lies Bleeding.??

The crowd gave polite applause, and the guard began their routine. It was
impressive and told a story through movement so fluid I had a hard time
looking away. They told the story of two lovers caught in the middle of a
war between two families. Ultimately one lover succumbs to their families
ideals and betrays the other. The piece ends with each member of the
guard in a circle in the middle of the gym and slowly walking outward
revealing one of the lovers lying on the ground with a single long piece
of red silk fabric flowing out and away from their body indicating they
took their own life due to the betrayal.

It was heavy. It was dark. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I connected
with it on so many levels. There was scattered applause, most people I
shock about what they just saw and processing the dark message.

Principal Devine returned to the podium clearly at a loss of words, as I
am sure he had never seen the routine before even though he tried to
present to the public that he was pro-arts. He stammered through an
acknowledgment of the incredible story and choreography that was lost on
this crowd.

He managed to pick the enthusiasm back up by ramping up the crowd by
teasing to introduce the football team. The crowd cheered and began
slapping their knees in an alternating pattern and making a buzzing noise
imitating the noise of a nest of hornets. Principal Devine starting to
fake swat at a bee which was the visual cue to Mrs. Freeman to ready the
orchestra and for Randy, the school mascot, to start running around the
gym. Mrs. Freeman lifted her baton, and I took a big deep breath in and
placed my hands in position, watching her movements closely waiting for
lift up and down strike signifying count one of the piece. She gave me a
quick look and a nod before dropping the baton into count one.

I immediately started the unrelenting melody. My right hand racing up and
down the chromatic scale at a tempo that only came with years of
technical skill. I closed my eyes tuning out the laughter of the students
laughing at Randy running around in a hornet costume dancing on the
people in the front rows of the bleachers and dancing in fast jerky
movements to the melody of the song. I focused on the feeling of the keys
under my finger and the thump of the cellos accenting notes giving the
melody dimension and helping me keep on beat with the quick tempo.

The crowd began cheering as the football team ran out right at the
crescendo of the song. I opened my eyes to catch a glimpse of the event.
The team was running around the gym pumping up the crowd, and I brought
my focus back to the music and the ending of the song. I began the ascent
up the chromatic scale and ended the song on the staccato note.

When I looked up, I locked eyes with Mitch. My heart lurched in my chest,
but I did not break eye contact as I normally did when we passed in the
hallways. The crowd now standing up and coming down onto the gymnasium
floor to dance and cheer with the team. As the crowd started to fill
around Mitch, he began moving around them and in my direction. When he
was blocked by a mass of students, effectively interrupting the
connection between us, I stood from the piano and walked to the exit,
leaving Mitch behind in the crowd of students.

I walked down the empty hallways of our high school making my way to the
parking lot. As I am walking down the deserted science hall, I hear that
deep baritone that once soothed my soul, but now made the hairs on my
neck stand up in rage.

?James, wait.? He said, jogging to close the distance between us.

I began to walk faster toward the exit, but he caught up to me and got in
front of my putting his hands on my shoulders to stop me.

?Get your hands off of me, Mitch,? I say through gritted teeth, knocking his
hands away.

He took a step back looking at me with a mixture of hurt and shock on his
face. I had never spoken to him with such animosity before. Even when he
hit me, I merely nodded and walked away. He looked at me for a moment
before saying,

?Ijust wanted to tell you that you did great back there,? He gestured to the
direction of the gym where the rally was still taking place.

?Thanks,? I say curtly walking around him and continuing my route to the
parking lot, desperate to get away from him before I lost all of my
willpower to keep myself together.

?James. Please talk to me,? He said in a soft tone.

I stopped again for a moment, his words striking a nerve inside me. I
spun around and locked my eyes on his.

?Or what, you?ll hit me?? I spat.

He looked down at the ground, and then back up to me his lips parting
about to speak, but I cut him off,

?You don?t get to do this, Mitch. You don?t get to burn my world to the ground,
and then act as if it never happened. You don?t-,? I trailed off looking into
his eyes, pausing for a moment to collect myself.

?You don?t get to break our friendship and my heart and ask anything of me,? I
finished softly.

We stare at each other, neither of us willing to look away from the
other. Distant talking and laughter mixed with the sounds of doors
opening and chanting made its way down the hallway. Students began to
appear in the hall behind Mitch. I broke the stare between us and turned
and walked out.