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.
"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.