What fresh hell

[al-shairan.livejournal.com]

A bright morning in April

I saunter in to school at lunchtime. Well, who can really be fucked with chemistry first thing in the morning? Especially since I am hungover. It's the perfect excuse to wear my new Versace shades, along with the rest of my acquisitions from the Spring collection. Except for the sandals. Bare toes at school are tacky. I get a few looks as I come in. I'm sure people think I look like a fag, to which I say - good. I'm the best fucking dressed fag in town, in that case. I've been noticing lately I want to be more obvious about it. Not like I'm some kind of show. But why not be out and proud? It's all very well to be sweet and discreet if you're one of the heteronormative masses, but dammit, I sound my barbaric queer YAWP all over this goddamn prison.

I'm in a cheerful mood this morning, despite the hangover. New clothes, the sun is shining, it's the weekend tomorrow, and Tez and I had some pretty amazing - no, astounding sex last night, after we both got drunk. I wish he hadn't had to go home. I hate it when he goes home. Fuck, I sound like such a girl. Obviously I never say these things to him. Things like the fact that even after six and a half months I still feel excited when I know I'm going to see him. Because that would make me sound like an idiot, and I hate that. He knows I love him, but he doesn't need to know how much.

I amble toward the cafeteria. Tez will probably be there, although I won't go looking for him. I'm not actually hungry, but I pick up a tray so I have some sort of excuse to sit here. Amanda Wilson is in the queue behind me and keeps going ON and ON in her loud, brash way about something. Her voice is like needles in my head.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask her. She stops talking to her friend, her jaw hanging open. Then she says:

"The talent show. You know, the junior-senior show that was announced this morning."

"Do I look," I say, my arch stare sadly ruined by my sunglasses, "like I have been awake for more than an hour or so?"

"Oh. I thought you were just, you know, posing. I mean, being fashionable, whatevs. Anyway. Principal Reed announced it. We've gotta put on a show. Everyone's gotta get involved. I might juggle. Did you know I can juggle? Or I can twirl batons."

"Your talents are unending," I say drily. "You seriously mean Reed has said we have to put on a fucking talent show?"

"Yeah, sure thing. We get credits and stuff, too! It's gonna be fun."

"What fresh hell is this," I mutter, and walk off with my tray. I should have stayed in bed, I think, as I sit down at an empty table.

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