No one knows i'm out here.

 Back of the school, unlit cigarette dangling between my lips. I hate smoking, can't stand it, but it makes people leave me alone, only delinquints smoke anymore, right?

They don't know I'm out here but they wouldn't really know if I was inside either, this place, this school, isn't really on top of things. I'm not entirely sure half the people in my AP french class know how to spell their own names, and kids come to school drunk all the time, I present myself as sort of a "badboy" or whatever but seriously who does that?

It's strange though how easily this image I've cultivaed came, just throw on some leather, carry some cigarettes in your pocket and don't talk to anybody and BAM you're the troublemaker new kid. I'm probably actually one of he most well-behaved kids in this place, if you don't count that I'm skipping calculus right now, learned it all two years ago.

 I really hate public school, I miss my blazer and my friends and that awesome thing where advanced classes are actually, y'know, advanced.  You make one mistake, actually believe that you could maybe confide in your father for once, even if you've never been able to before, but you tell him and he declares you a disappointment and drops you off an hour and half away at your aunt's house in goddamn Lima, Ohio.

No, I don't want to make friends here. I want to be left alone to coast through my classes until graduation, and then, I dunno, New York, maybe. Maybe get work at a piano bar or something. I don't know.

It's not that I'm antisocial or anything.  I'm just sad, or angry or something, like constantly i feel like I'm always mad at the world. I don't know why. I used to be so happy. When did everything go so wrong?

Wait, I think I know, It was that stupid party for all of Westerville's bourguoisie, hoi paloi, types. I'd gotten all dressed up in my stupid little tuxedo with my stupid little bow tie and all of the lawyer and businessmen and government official's daughters had batted their overly made-up eyes at me and he'd dug his elbow into my ribs.  "These girls are falling all over themselve's for you, son, you can have your pick, lady killer."  and I'd looked up at him and stupidly I'd asked "I can have my pick?"  and he'd winked at me and said "You bet."  and I felt like maybe, for once, he was going to be a good father. "Then I pick boys."  and I remember the way his nostrils flared and he gritted his teeth, and stupidly, Stupidly I had to repeat myself, make sure I was clear. "I'm gay, Dad." 

The next day I no longer called 3245 Cramer boulevard, Westerville Ohio, home. 

Three months later and here I am, still the strange new kid, sitting next to a dumpster, ruminating on how much I hate my life. 

And- Oh shit.

Fuck.

The heavy, metal door bursts open and this lean, sort of lithe kid runs out. 

Oh he's in my AP French, I know him, the only other kid in this place that's not completely brain dead. And he's pretty, but I pretend not to notice, I keep my head down. I'm not here to make friends.

Oh fuck is he crying?

Yup he's crying. 

He hasn't noticed me, he's got his head all pressed up against his arms, leaning on the opposite wall, I could just slip away, let him cry in peace, he'd never know I was here.

Fuck, why can't I leave?

Ugh, I'm gonna have to comfort him aren't I?

Fuck.

I unfold myself from my seat on the ground, dust off my pants, and stride over him with something that I hope looks sort of detatched and maybe dangerous.  I reach out and touch his shoulder.

Holy shit I've never seen someone flinch so much.

God, He looks terrified.  Suddenly I'm less worried about looking dangerous. 

"Hey, Shhh it's okay, I'm not gonna hurt you."  Did that just come out of my mouth?

He just keeps on shaking and looking at me like I'm gonna punch him or somehting, for god's sake he's taller than me.

"Hey, I'm serious, You're okay, My name's Blaine."  What? Not how i was planning on this class period going, that's for sure.

Did I seriously just offer him my hand.

Did he seriously just flinch away from my hand.

"Hey, It's okay."  where is this coming from? 

Oh, he's shaking my hand.

Oh, he's got soft hands.

Oh, they're warm.

"Kurt." 

I remember that pretty voice, usually it's in french. I thought it was strange the first time I heard it, really high for a boy. But it's musical, and he speaks french really well, his accent's perfect, he's better than me, and I've been to france.

"Who are you?"  I don't want people to know who I am, I'm not out to make friends at this asylum for dumb-asses. Why am I so hurt when he doesn't recognize me? You know, from french.

"I'm sort of new.... we have french together..."  shrug.

"OH! you're the- the quiet boy.  I heard you got kicked out of some reform school in Indiana!"  the poor boy claps his hand over his mouth, like he's afraid he's been too rude. So that's what they're saying about me.

I pull out the cigarette I've tucked behind my ear, hold it between my fingers, touch my lighter to it.  I'll be playing the role of juvenile delinquint and it's showtime.

I'll just puff on it a little, let it rest in my hand, mostly, create the illusion that I actually smoke.

Oh he's looking at me weird, inquisitively, I supose would be the word for it. 

"You're really smart.."  he says it like a question, how dare he.

I give him my best bitch glare, "Yeah.  And?"

"You just don't seem like the usual 'bad boy' type, why do you smoke? Why were you hiding out back here?" 

And I snap at him. " Why were you crying?" 

Ugh he's giving me this somber look, like he's searching his fucking soul to tell me the answer, like he thinks I feel bad for him and I want to play therapist.  

"This um, this jock guy, he pushed me into the lockers, hard, and I ran after him into the locker room and I yelled at him and he-  He kissed me. I've never been kissed before. He said if I tell anyone he'll kill me."  He's looking at me with these big, wet, blue eyes "You can't tell anyone what I've just told you." He's pleading.

I meant to say something biting and sarcastic, but for some reason my eyes are feeling wet too, and I'm laying a hand gently on his shoulder and looking him straight in those goddamn oceans he has for eyes.  How dare he be so beautiful when I'm trying to be generally angry and apathetic towards him and all the other sorry excuses for students at this place.

"I would never, ever tell anyone." 

He's nodding and wiping tears away from his eyes. "thank you."  

Okay, we're just kind of staring at eachother now.

Eye-contact, I guess?

Fuck, what do I do?

"I hide out here because I told my Dad that I'm gay and he kicked me out, and now I live with my aunt and I go here and it's remedial compared to the very prestigious private school I used to go to, that's right, not reform school, not juvie, and I'm angry and sad and disappointed and I dunno, I guess I'm like trying to punish myself or something by avoiding people and not trying to make new friends and making people think I'm strange." 

Wait, what!?  

Did I- No, I have to be dreaming, I did not just tell this random kid my goddamn life story. Fuck! What is the world coming to?

Fuck!

He's hugging me.  Oh, he feels sort of nice.

No!

He smells really good too.

What!? No.
 
Mmm he's so warm. 

"I'm so sorry about your dad."

Hmm, Maybe it's okay, maybe if I just let this kid- Kurt- in, maybe that's okay." 

"Sorry about your first kiss." 

Oh, He's hugging me tighter.

Feels nice.