October 2, 2009

Jerome:

"Dammit, Mitch. We're gonna be late because of your slow ass!" It's been five minutes and he's still screwing around in the bathroom with his hair like he's never used hair gel before. I can put gel in my hair while I eat breakfast and put a hat on at the same time, but this guy needs a decade and a half to stop oogling at his pretty face in the mirror. Shoulda changed his name to Narcissus. Or Trump.

"I'm going, I'm going. Chill out, dood. You sound like my mom."

"Well, you sound like Marley! Just put a fucking hat on and let's go!"

"It's not my fault you chose to take an eight o'clock class. Maybe you should've thought twice about that before you signed up." Like I had a choice. Not everyone earned a million credits in three different countries and hacked the system and got to take half a schedule. I wish I was a senior in sophomore classes, too.

"Maybe I shoulda thought twice about carpooling with Molasses Ass. Do you need a hat? Lemme find you a hat."

"Jerome, I'm not going to wear one of your nasty, salty hats to school. They smell like armpits, dood."

"No, they smell like arm-e-san cheese. That's different, Mitch." He reappears in the doorway with his eyebrow raised and a Level One Bitchface. Good. I hope I get on his nerves. After waiting on him for half an hour, he's on my nerves. "Get your shit and let's go. Big Mac's gonna kill me if I'm late again."

"I thought you said you liked Big Mac. I thought he was your favorite teacher."

"No." There's just so many things wrong with that that I can't even speak. Where would I start? I could rant for three hours and not even scratch the surface. Mr. McLeod is the vilest, filthiest, oldest and moldiest chemistry teacher in Jersey, and I think he literally rubs parmesan cheese on his greasy ass burger body. Red Robin wouldn't sell that shit.

"Oh, come on, Biggums. You know it's your favorite way to start every single Monday morning. Doesn't it just... cheer you up, knowing you'll get another quiz back covered in 'coffee stains'? Must be nice to 'Ace' everything." He smirks at me and grabs his backpack and a bag of Hot Cheetos out of his magic cereal fridge and starts eating 'em. Like a goddamn goat. Without a care in the world.

"Mitch. Just get in the fucking car."

"Mitch. Just get in the fucking car." Sometimes I just wanna backhand this guy. That's fair game, right? I wouldn't be hitting a girl. Guys hit each other all the time. But then he'd probably beat my ass, too. I wonder how hard it'd be for me to get a prescription for T like him. Build some muscle, lose some weight, get a little taller, make my voice deeper. On the other hand, I don't wanna turn into Bitchy Mitch V. 2 every two weeks. There's enough of those already.

"I mean it, Mitch."

"I mean it, Mitch." He crosses his arms like me and glares up at me with his big hazel eyes because he knows he can get away with it. What am I gonna do? Pick him up and carry him upstairs? It's his car.

"You better hope your voice drops again or they're gonna cast you for the next Alvin and the Chipmunks movie."

"Yeah, let's take some shots at the chauffeur. Good way to earn points, Jerome."

"You're just mad 'cause you know it's true." He eats another chip and blinks at me. "Come on. Please?" And with that he bows and turns and heads upstairs with his nasty chilled Cheetos in one hand and his car keys in the other. I didn't notice it before he started walking away, but those are some tight fucking jeans. I didn't think he could wear stuff like that because his butt was too big. Since when did Mitch wear skinny jeans?

Wait... Since when have I been keeping tabs on Mitch's butt? I didn't even notice I was noticing it, but apparently I was noticing it. And since it looks better like this... Does that mean I've been keeping a scorecard of my best friend's ass? Does that make me gay? Is there even a label for something like this? He's a guy, but he's not technically a guy, so how does that work? Did I just invent some magical new sexual orientation? Or would I just be gay? Is that such a bad thing? I mean, that's a pretty-

"Jerome." Something hits me on the neck and I look up and see Mitch staring down at me with both eyebrows raised and a red Cheeto poised to fly. We made it to Level Three. "If you're going to ride my ass about taking too long, you shouldn't fall asleep halfway up the stairs."

"I wasn't asleep. I was coming."

"Yeah, to the thought of making a sandwich with Big Mac. Stop dreaming about his French fry and let's go, dood." I feel my face go sour and I run up the stairs after him, two at a time. I really don't wanna think about that mental image. Ever. Fuck. I saw it. Leave it to Mitch to ruin butts for me. Well, maybe not all butts.

"You're a sick fucker, you know that?"

"Supersize me."

"Fuck you, man."

---

October 2, 2009

Jerome:

I plug my phone in for the night and put it over on the desk where I won't get tempted to surf YouTube until my eyes fall out. No one wants to get outta bed and walk across the room the night after doing the stupid presidential fitness tests in PE. Fuck that, man. I can't even put my arms above my head. They just feel like Mom's spaghetti. And Mitch the triathlete wasn't a whole lotta help, either, taking off and actually running the whole mile and leaving me to pretend to jog in his dust. Not that I mind that much.

I've gotta watch it. He'd actually murder me and post a video of it online if he caught me staring at his ass. He'd murder me and superglue a picture of himself bending over to my headstone just to spite me. Or would he? Am I the only one who got sucked into this or does he check me out and I never noticed? That might be why he used to get all pissy when his parents would make jokes about us getting married back before he transitioned. I mean, weirder things've happened. YouTube proves that. But how would that work? You can't just grow a dick with T so he still has...

Oh. Well. That's a mental image I'll never be able to unsee.

I've never really thought about Mitch having boobs and a vag before. He's never really been a girl. But he didn't suddenly switch bodies one day, either. And those things don't just disappear when you start taking T-shots. I guess that's why he wears hoodies all year – he's trying to cover it up. So does that mean he's into girls or guys or both or neither or what? How would having sex work? I kinda wanna get up and grab my phone and Google it but... I don't think I can. Mentally or physically. I can't see him the same way now.

Is that a bad thing?

I don't think it's a bad thing.

I'm mean, he's pretty cute.

Goddammit, Mitch. You can't make anything in life easy, can you?