GRAYSON'S STAMINA IS IMPECCABLE. IF there is one thing he's perfect at — apart from football, dating and bisexual coitus — it's the manner in which he expertly handles his education in the left palm, his enigma in the right. The two neither clash nor mix, like oil and water, Grayson acting as Mother Nature. Nobody ever knows when he'll sneak out of school during lunch break and to the Burger King a mile down. When they eventually notice, like magic, he's right beside them, swooning on his mirror's reflection or polishing his football. When it comes to balance, even the Statue of Nemesis kisses his feet.
The area is clear. Flopping the hoodie over, he snakes through the school's back fence and takes hasty paces towards the main block. His head is hung low, facing down to his shaggy trainers. They clop into the wet dirt of the unconcreted floor, spluttering on the ankle of his long denims. He inhales the blunt, murky air and curses neath his breath. He can almost see the boys' locker room. Only if he can just —
"Yo bro!"
He stiffens, his shoulders pinned to the air. He pivots slowly to meet his my best friend rushing over to him, his dirty blonde locks flapping like the wings of an happy parrot. Damien bends on his knees, sucking and vomiting gallons of air like an asthmatic.
"Whoa, easy there fella ." Grayson pats his shoulder with a slight frown on his face.
"Where have you been? I've searched all ends of the earth for your blonde ass!"
Grayson's Adam's apple bobs down in panic but it merely happens in his head. He is going to alter the rail tracks of this interrogation train like a boss. He fakes a watchful eye and examines his best friend critically. "I can tell the star quarterback of the Warlocks hasn't been in good shape for a while."
"Perry. Long story."
Grayson has worked his magic once again. Perks of having a conversationalist as a best friend. Damien's mouth is the twin of Vin Diesel from Fast and Furious. Except it runs faster than his brain so he bounces haphazardly amongst topics till he tires out like pinball.
"Uhm uhm." Grayson replies quietly, already regretting his decision. He's always despised the blonde, stingy mongrel his best friend calls 'girlfriend'. Damien is hot and all but Grayson doesn't want to witness a genderbent version of Beauty and the Beast because Perry can never transform into a princess. What Damien sees in her despite the fact that she is clearly going to be the death of himself is still unknown to Grayson.
Damien doesn't reply for a little while. "So, I was asking you were you went. And don't even dare change the topic like you just did."
Shit.
"Okay okay, I surrender." Grayson lifts an arm into the air and uses the other to push the door to the locker room. "But may I just ask why Gera —"
"Grayson!!" Damien scolds, his eyes spitting daggers that cut through Grayson's thick, wooly hoodie.
"— why Gerard is stealing your clothes." He completes.
"What?" Damien whips his hair to the back and sees a brunet ravaging his locker like it is an honeycomb and he is Winnie the Pooh.
"Oh for fuck sake, Gerard!" Damien's hot heels burns his footprint and his body is boiling over. "How many fucking times do I have to tell you wear my boxers?!"
"I'm so sorry man, I kinda forgot mine at home."
"And allow me to contact your herpes? Never."
"Dude that's harsh."
"You're disgusting!"
Grayson breathes a sigh of relief and blocks out their noise. Peace and quiet seems lovely at the moment, but he needs his football more than ever. He whistles Ariana Grande while enjoying the masculine cocaine that fogs the entire room. Sweat and boys never cease to lift his spirit up.
As he peels the hoodie off him, he keeps his eyes cemented on a portrait that rests on the opposite wall of the spacious compartment. It is a fragment of a twelve-year-old memory, the reason for his problems. It hurts him more bitterly than sweetly at the same time and he still finds himself dwelling in it, like a merman stubborn to leave his boiling oasis.
He slaps the door close and as if on cue, a hand does the same subtly on his shoulder pad. Grayson is so lost in thought, he doesn't pay the culprit any attention.
"Hm?"
"You know you can tell me anything, Grayson."
"Noted. So what's up?" Grayson shields his face from the vicious sunshine that felt like x-ray needles mistaking his forehead for a pin cushion.
"I heard about your little hero tale."
Grayson cocks his head to the side like a flustered puppy. "What hero tale?"
"The one with the redhead." Damien says, slapping Grayson's bare back with a shirt.
"Oh. Yeah what about it?"
"I was told you rushed the 'red hot new guy' in your hands 'princess-style' to the infirmary." Damien preaches with air-quotes. The nickname this damned school gave Alejandro always crack Grayson up. The first person to cull that bullshit needs an exorcism from a demon(s) of stupidity.
"Oh. Yeah what about it?" Grayson repeats. He narrows his eyes into suspicious slits at his best friend. "He fainted on me. I had to do something."
"You had to stay with him too?"
Grayson never bothered to think about that. It's no big deal to waste his sparse mental calories on anyways. Alejandro is a friend — okay maybe it's mere acquaintanceship between them but it only seemed right. It was clear as day, that day, the guy was sick to the bones. Grayson probably just felt responsible or sympathetic. It's not his fault his mood swings like the Foucault pendulum. His own private issues are strong enough to do that.
"The look on the Wicked Witch of the West's face when she learns what you did." Damien let out a small laugh as he bends over to tie his Adidas laces.
That's why the two friends can never go on double dates. Grayson against Perry, Damien against Layla, all hell will break loose.
Grayson rolls his eyes into his skull and back. "Dude, how many times will I have to tell you to stop calling her that?"
"I just can't help it. She doesn't even let me touch you. Me, your best friend." Damien snorts.
"Aren't you touching me right now?" Grayson stares down at Damien's veiny arm over his shoulders.
"She's such a clingy hoe."
"Well, what's your own business? She's my problem not yours."
"Your problem is always my problem, that, is not your choice to make."
Does anyone know how much I fucking love this guy?
"Still, she's not that bad."
"Trust me, she's not. If she learns that you played Knight in shining armor - which she probably already knows considering the magnitude in which shit spreads in this school - I won't be surprised when she tries to pick on your damsel in distress."
"Haha. I hope she breaks a leg." Layla is that type of girl who clings onto her boyfriend like an acrophobic koala every opportunity she smells. It's more than irritating but the only thing still keeping Grayson is her superpower of transforming a common bed-play into a scene that can make the headlines of pornhub for centuries; Grayson's ultimate desideratum.
Grayson feels his phone vibrate against his thighs. He uproots it from the tight butt-pocket. Seeing five missed calls and thirteen texts from Layla, he harshly pockets the phone in exasperation. Layla has always been a constant pain in the ass, too bad it isn't literal.
"Damien!"
No single hour comes by without Damien needing to yell. He has always been a drama magnet. Sometimes, Grayson receives collateral damage, sometimes it's the total damage, leaving Damien unscathed. It has always revolved around those two notions and never deviated.
"What the hell does this bitch want now?"
Grayson chuckles as Darcy, Damien's twin sister stomps over to them in killer heels. Like how the heck do girls manage to walk in heels the length of metre rulers? What sorcery?
"Did you have to scream my name when you were coming here? Sis, you're fucking insane."
"Insane for my precious little booboo bro." Damien makes a disgusted face and moves his cheek away from Darcy's pinch.
Darcy's shoulder-length hair is colored similarly to Damien's and is bound in a high bun. She has these breathtaking hazel eyes worth to die for. Her rosy, plump lips that are out of this world are painted hot pink and set in a sneer. Her nose is aquiline and perfect. A true diva she is.
"What's up, Gray?" She doesn't even wait for his reply before she turns her attention back to her brother which signifies she must really mean business. "Keys, now."
"No can do, sis. My bros and I are gonna hang out and chill outta town."
"Oh yeah? To Evergreen Mall for some more greeny shopping? I completely understand. Anyways, bring souvenirs. Mom and Dad would love it."
Damien is fuming by now with the harsh red tint on his slender face. Damien makes Grayson thank God for making him the only child. He calls her, which she does quicker than expected. From the looks if it, Grayson figures she caught Damien with some weed, again.
Poor guy. With a sister like that, life isn't always a bed of roses. Darcy has been a spit-thunder with a thick, dominant aura that looms over her every being. Grayson hates to admit this but it was frightening during his middleschool days. Unfortunately for her, she had a crush that Grayson failed to reciprocate.
"I've got my eyes on this Sebastian Wesley guy. You know him, don't you?"
"Never heard of him." Damien shook his head in denial.
"Come on. That tall and buffy guy in English class with the huge glasses." Grayson spins his bottle of mineralized water and takes a shot.
"Oh, you mean Coach's son."
Grayson's throat closes and he sprays the water all over the grass like a watering can. He releases fluidic coughs while hammering his chest with his fist.
"Are you fucking with me right now cos I'll be real mad bro."
A startling, sharp sound of a whistle barges rudely into their conversation and Damien heaves a deep sigh. "Ready for another session with Coach Terry?"
"You bet." Grayson cheers with apparent sarcasm licking his words. It's funny considering his first name is really Terror. Like how wow is that! Parents of the year! He cringes again as Terror blurts out in terror, his voice bitter than the whistle's.
"How can a beast like that give birth to such a delectable specimen like Sebastian?" This world will never cease to amuse Grayson Jackson. He huffs in indignation, shakes the itchy football gear embracing his body and jogs off to his teammates.
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