(Unedited)

"That looks like a sketch," Christian remarks rhetorically as he stands beside me in my locker. I hadn't noticed my sketchbook was sitting open since it was visible inside. Upon hearing Christian's comment, I quickly closed my locker. His mocking tone assured me, "Your secret is safe," he added as he adjusted his messenger bag and placed his left leg on the secure locker opposite mine, portraying a Peeta Mellark aesthetic as a few drama students headed for classes talking to each other.

"We should get to class", I tell him, taking no interest in the sketch conversation any longer. How he considered what I had skewed together at two am a sketch was beyond me, and that was the farthest I could stretch my brain artistically, unlike Simon. "Mr Olsten isn't a fan of late students," I mentioned as I headed in the direction of his classroom.

"Wouldn't blame him. I don't know any teacher that is," Christian calls out as he catches up to me. "Can we hang out later?" he said, reminding me that I was supposed to be doing physics. In response, I said nothing. He asked me to hang out with him, and I stood there like a fool.

I tried to form my words as they formed. "Yeah," I managed to finish what I was trying to say to begin with. Was I sure I wasn't attracted to him? It was not inevitable; I would let genetics determine that for me. Scientists believe that attraction is a function of what is happening in our brains and nerves, mainly our brains. The same can be said about sexual attraction, contrary to popular belief distinct from the natural interest. For example, it isn't always about looks, but it can also be about what someone wants and needs. Everyone is different, so everyone has their characteristics towards attraction.

As we enter the classroom, he says, "Bring your Physics book. We'll do some studying together," which makes me wonder why he wants to study while we hang out. I mean, who does homework while hanging out? He added, "We're Physics partners. It shouldn't be awkward," as Mr Olsten walked into the room and walked straight towards the whiteboard. He was right; it shouldn't seem awkward after all the texts and the ride home.

I sketched notes on Quantum Physics as he scribbled notes. It was the first time I had found myself doing so; I wondered if it was worth it? The velocity dynamics looked like I had tried to draw something in Latin. If I could draw for notes, wouldn't I draw for art class?

While Simon is still working on his zebra canvas, I walk towards my easel stand, where I know I would have no idea what to do. Granted, I did not want to join an art school society, but I had to pass my class somehow. He adds hues of pinks, yellows, and blues with colour on every stroke, adding up to a cohesive statement. His devotion became intimidating as he just took a moment to push some of his dense hair out of his face and then continued writing.

"The colours you're adding in; what do they represent?" I asked, apparently more interested in Simon's painting than in creating my mess. Maybe Simon could think of inspiration for my no-good art.

"It reflects the community of LGBTQIA students here at Ember River," Simon tells me proudly as he shows off his work. While he says it, I am slightly anxious. Did he know that I was part of the zebra canvas? What should I say? "We have LGBTQIA meetings every Tuesday at lunch," Simon tells me. How could Simon be so open and honest about himself while I struggled so much to be exactly that? "I identify somewhere on the rainbow spectrum, and I still have trouble putting my finger on where it fits," Simon adds proudly with a small smile of pride. He seems happy to discuss the group and how he stood out.

"Your art looks neat. "There are so many art schools that will gladly accept you," I tell him. What will shape me to create something I need to finish? Time lingers into the end of class, and I still have a blank canvas. Picking up my bag, I head for the exit.

"It starts with inspiration. It's going to come to you," Simon tells me before he leaves, probably heading for his locker. Had Simon been right? Would it come to me? I had started to hope so. With that, I finally leave the room.

After Dryden and I reach his car, I see Christian at his Jeep. I wanted to say something but didn't. Had he noticed me? Dryden is talking his usual chatter. "Tomorrow is our first game, and I'm ready!" he declared.

Even though I hadn't planned to go, I knew Ember River would have high expectations. "Yeah, I know. The entire town will be there," I tell him harsher than I intended. Friday nights games, like most towns, had always been a tradition, and Ember River wasn't anything different. It is just a rural cookie-cutter town having its crooks and crannies with years or unspeakable habits compared to expectations of Boston or Manhatten in the autumnal months of the year.

'Your parents will be at one of the games; shouldn't you attend at least one game and show your support?' Dryden raises an eyebrow as he thought my statement had offended him. It might have. Regardless, we sit there trying to forget these few awkward minutes.

"My parents show up to watch football because they want to, as most people do," I tell him as he parks outside my driveway. "Not everyone enjoys football, so you have to accept it," I say to him as the cassette tape in the car changes to the other side. Maybe I shouldn't have snapped at Dryden. He was probably right though, I should attend at least one game, even if I didn't like football or knew anything about it.

He snapped back, more than likely reacting to what I had just said. "I've known you since we were kids," he said as he ran his fingers through his curly auburn hair.

"Just because I don't want to attend a game," I start as I work out what I want to say next. How would he react if I said something he didn't want to hear? "It's just a game you've been good at since you were young," I finally said what I had thought.

"That has nothing to do with it," Dryden replies, looking remorseful. "Again," he begins as I get ready to speak up again. Whatever he was going to say next after again, I didn't want to hear it.

"Again, my parents have nothing to do with this. They show up because they want to. Not because they want to poke their nose into everyone's business, but because they want to, so don't pull the parental card on me!" I snapped at him all at once.

He tells me, "Okay, whatever. You're home, so you might as well get out," as he points outside the window as if I wasn't at home at all. His expression showed no indication that the rest of this conversation was necessary.

Upon doing as Dryden told me to do, I collected my bag and got out of his car without looking back.

****

While my parents stand in the kitchen preparing dinner, I tell them, "I'm going to a friend's." However, my plan to split was stopped when my mother started asking questions with a knife that she was cutting carrots with.

"At dinner time? You're welcome to go after dinner," my mother said as she placed her knife on an island and started boiling water. The doorbell rings while she is in the middle of what she had planned to say, leaving us wondering who it could be.

"I'll get it," I say, breaking down the awkwardness between the three of us. I knew it couldn't be Dryden, and he wouldn't have rung the doorbell; he'd walk right in as he has since I knew him. Someone you've known for so long is welcome to do so, I guess.

Upon approaching the door, it became clear who the six-foot shadowy outline gave away who it was. I opened the door to Christian wearing a hoodie with an image of David Hasselhoff instead of his Ember River school vest and a pair of comfortable-looking sweats. Without a word, I gestured for him to come in.

"Who were you talking to?" My mother asks. That had been something I wanted to avoid, mostly because I didn't know what Christian was likely to say or do. I thought he might have texted or something. Maybe he had left the driveway. Perhaps I'd be lucky, and he'd change his mind about wanting to be here. My quiet hopes fade away as he walks himself towards the kitchen.

"Mom, this is Christian. He's my table mate in Physics," I tell my mother as she leans over the stove, turning it off. My silent paranoia sets in as I hope she or my father don't ask any personal questions. Every person hates talking about themselves, as it makes them break down a wall that they have put up for themselves throughout their lives. I, for one, am a great holder of holding my walls up, and I am the one who chooses when to break that wall, even though modern-day society speaks otherwise. I had no idea where Christian stood on the spectrum.

"Hello, Mr and Mrs Montgomery," Christian stood before my parents and offered them a handshake, and they gladly accepted his offer. "I didn't know dinner was being made. Sorry," he added as though he should have done something else.

"How is Luke doing in class anyways?" my father speaks up, finally getting the question he had wanted to ask since Christian appeared. I silently hoped that Christian wouldn't say it wasn't Christian's place to answer, and I wondered why my dad would ask him instead of me.

"Quite frankly, sir, he is doing alright," Christian tells him. My father would have preferred good or doing well; not alright. "I am here to help him work on a school project," Christian adds, as my father's face appears to light up.

"Where are you from?" said my mother. It was a question I had hoped my mother would not ask, and she had bombarded Christian with questions he couldn't answer in the Jeep previously, as I had once asked him. His eyes now look down at the table, as he seemed to dislike answering this question, more than likely for personal reasons.

"Vermont, Ma'am," Christian tells my mother, as his voice starts to falter at the question. I don't feel like asking questions, so instead, I get up from the table and stretch as I think of a reason to get Christian out of the kitchen.

"I'll be back down when dinner is ready," I tell my parents as I head in the direction of the stairs to head up to my bedroom. "Christian and I will be upstairs working on homework," I add as he stands up behind me, following my lead.

"Sorry about all the questions," I tell Christian as we step inside my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. "They tend to ask a lot of questions, as I'm sure most parents do," I add as I sit down on the bed beside him. Our bodies are a few inches apart from one another.

Christian says, "They ask questions because they care. They're curious and want to know things they didn't have information about eighteen years ago." He goes quiet again, as though in thought. "The same way my aunt asks me things. I mean; unless they're the gossipy part of town, then we have a problem," he adds, smiling.

"You live with your aunt, come from Vermont, yet I still know the smallest element about you," I remarked before getting up from the bed. "You're like quantum physics," I add as I realise I said that last part incorrectly.

"No wonder you're doing alright in class. You can't tell physics from quantum physics," Christian remarks. "Physics is a fancy word for everything, including gravity breaks; QP is everything around you," he explains as he gets off the bed, heading for my desk where my physics book lies. "There are literally over three hundred pages, know what? Never mind," Christian closes the book in defeat.

As he looks at everything on my wall without judgment, I tell him, "I want to attend MIT in Massachusetts, but I'm boycotting a required class because I'm scared of not being accepted." I told him something I had never spoken to Dryden or my parents before.

"You're going to have to pass this class before you can even apply," Christian tells me as though I hadn't already known that. "So since I'm here, why don't we get some shit done?" he asks as he brings my book towards the bed.

When we finished reading a chapter and taking notes, I didn't know its time. I don't even remember when my parents told me supper was ready-if they did. I was too focused on studying and taking notes. "It's late," I say to him as I take out my phone as it reveals the time.

"It's not late, and you're just not used to someone studying with you," Christian tells me as he stands up and stretches. Had Christian been correct, was that what it was? Was it something else? I wasn't sure, and I damned well wasn't going to ask.

Trying to predict what he might say, I tentatively said, "I'll walk you to your car." Would he let me know we were not a couple and didn't need me to walk to the car? Or is that another cliche the media suggest this is what all couples do?

"I'll see you tomorrow, Hemsworth," he says before waving goodbye and leaving my room. I'll text you when I get 🏠-a message followed shortly after getting into his car and before leaving the driveway.

I fell asleep as two smiley face emojis popped up on my screen.