Something Gained

TW: Homophobic text (not meant by the author, important as a story plot) and conversion center

I arrived at the academy exactly four months, ten days, and three hours ago. I haven't exactly broken a world record or been the one to consult with if you're lost on the way to History class with Professor Poe. I am not the person you should ask about various dealings that happen here in the dark of night because I will not know what to answer you with. I am not the person you reach out to for help with mathematics or with questions about the biology midterm, because I cannot help you there. I am here solely because I got the scholarship for my "remarkable" essays on old English literature that I--privately--hate to read. You can ask me about that because I'll know what to say.

Upon my arrival at the Gilbert Nichols School for Exceptional Teens, every student was staring idly at me as I pulled my heavy luggage through the dimly lit halls. No matter how little I wished to draw attention, not many captivating things happen here on a daily, so anything that could breathe would be news.

When the bell finally rang, all students collected their things and left for their classes while I sat uncomfortably in a cushioned chair in front of the Vice-Principal.

She wasn't exactly what I'd describe as "old" but she wore that look that is almost recognizable to be at least fifty years old. Her name was Darlene Barber and she had four kids which she brought up every chance she got. Her husband was a construction worker currently on a job down the road. Darlene had two cats--Mittens and Whiskers, and if that didn't point out that she was of ripe age, I dunno what will.

Darlene explained to me in the most adenoidal voice I'd heard, probably one with such a high pitch that dogs run toward her when she speaks, all about the school and its system.

"We believe that there are five character traits our students need to exhibit whilst learning," she continued. "Diligent, responsible, punctual, determined, and self-disciplined." Her rigorous attitude towards these traits made me believe she had a large role in making them the criteria for applicants, which led me to self-doubt. I am anything but diligent, responsible, punctual, determined, and self-disciplined.

My head filled with possible responses--all of which I couldn't say. Darlene didn't make this seem like a call-and-response thing. She doesn't get the opportunity to talk much, I presume, so she'll take what she can get.

After a thorough explanation of the requirements, classes, and every topic of conversation, Darlene led me out of her office and to my dorm room.

"You'll be sharing with Wes, Alec, and Miles--all terrific boys," she said. "They'll be here to answer any questions you have, and they might even become your friends."

Key word there: might.

"I'll let you get settled and give you a map," she shuffled through her pockets as she continued. "Your schedule is on your bedside table, along with the rulebook. You're a smart boy, I expect you to at least try to catch your fourth block, right after lunch." Darlene proceeded to pat my shoulder and then took her leave.

I honestly didn't have much to unpack. The suitcase was full of books, mostly, and until I could find some place to put them, I found no reason to take them out. However, I did unload whatever clothes I had in the baggage and put them in the small closet I was supplied with. As I completed everything I had to do, I took one look at the schedule before stuffing it in my pocket and opening the rulebook.

.....

Students are expected to be in their dorms by ten P.M on school nights and eleven P.M on weekends. There will be no frolicking with other students unless approved by a committee of peers and teachers.

If a student is found having unallowed relations with another, their punishment will also be up to a committee.

Unallowed relations include: a relationship not known by professors, a relationship that breaks any previous rules, and or a homosexual relationship.

.....

I sat there, astonished. I wasn't gay, but I knew that on that paper was written pure homophobia. And apparently, no one in this school had a problem with it.

The last sentence in the rulebook ran through my mind. How constricting were these people? Telling teenagers what they can and can do with their own bodies in their own time? Shouldn't that be illegal?

As I approached the French classroom and entered, all eyes shifted to me. The tables were lined on both sides of the room, girls on one side, boys on the other. Many more thoughts similar to the ones I had earlier run through my head, but I do not dare speak any of them.

I tried to convince myself I didn't care. I wasn't gay, it didn't change anything. But I didn't believe it. No matter how many times I told myself, I did care. But I still didn't plan on breaking the rules.

Until I sat down next to James Barnett.

.....

We spent as much time together as possible, which made sense to everyone, especially the professors. James and I had so much in common that it was borderline strange. He was funny and kind beyond compare. That's really the only real way to describe him.

James told me all about his family and how strict they sometimes are, how he got into the school due to his parents helping create it, and every other detail in his life. And I was honored to listen.

He always tried to get me to open up to him, but I didn't for one sole reason. I had nothing to tell. I was born and raised in the outskirts of New England where my parents owned and operated a small inn. The only reason I came to this school was because my mom had gotten sick to the extent that we knew it was over before it began. So I left. And both of my parents understood. I couldn't be there when she...

James knew nothing of my past for that reason. I literally couldn't talk about it.

One night--Valentine's Day--everything was flipped around. A ball was hosted in the ballroom, which I had never seen before. James and I planned on going as friends, but Wes had told me that it was expected of us to bring a date.

"Don't worry about it," James had told me, adjusting my bowtie. His green eyes were looking down at me, focused and breathing sharply. "It'll be over before you know it."

He was speaking of my 'date' with Gia Greyson, a perfectly fine girl I had Art and Design with. She had asked me a few days ago and James had forced me into a yes. I would've much preferred to go with him.

But I couldn't. His arm was occupied by Paula d'Andrea. I can't blame him for wanting to take her. She's gorgeous, after all. Yet I felt this peculiar feeling in my gut, deep down. It weighed.

"And you promise we'll hang out during the thing?" I asked.

James chuckled. "The dance," he corrected. "And of course. I am not missing out on the chance to see Noel Evan Sutton drunk."

.....

I spent the night watching him dance with her. And even though I didn't want to admit it, they looked perfect. Brown-haired boy with gorgeous eyes and black-haired girl with smooth almond skin. Just like on my first day, all eyes on them. And what hurt most of all was knowing that had I been in her place, their eyes would have been averted.

.....

Gia had brought me a few drinks and hung out with me, but later left to see her friends. I was seated near the drink tables, trying to remember which bowl Liam had spiked.

At some point, James neared me with a shy smile. "How you doing?" he asked.

"Splendidly," I said, trying to get him to leave without insulting him. "Which bowl was spiked again?" James discreetly nodded to the bowl closest to me and I returned the gesture with a wide grin.

.....

James left soon after that interaction as I remained where he left me, getting more and more intoxicated by the second as he twirled Paula with ease.

.....

He took me back to my dorm before the end of the dance, probably because he knew I was mad at Miles for copying my notes on the Chem study we were doing three days ago. He handed me my pajamas and made sure I brushed my teeth before lying me down in my bed and heading back.

"Stop," I said, voice wavering because of the alcohol. "You don't get to abandon me. I need you just as much as Paula."

James--who still didn't grasp how drunk I was--laughed a bit and scratched the back of his neck. He always did that when he didn't know what to say.

"I gotta go, Noel," he replied.

"I hate this," I then said. "How differently we view this. This 'friendship"--and here I did full air-quotes, which I ended up regretting the next morning--"is more to me than to you. I guess we are on different levels of the social food chain. I'm sorry, Mr. Popular, from keeping you from your crowd or whatever."

Nestling into my pillow, I tried so desperately to drift off but I couldn't, knowing that James was processing what I said.

"Look, you're my friend," he told me. "But you aren't my only friend. I am allowed to have other groups of people, alright. It isn't my job to be your everything."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not what I mean. You think of me as that--a friend. Have you ever thought about what you mean to me? You are not only my everything--your my... frick, I dunno. But you carry me along. Never as important to you as your status."

James scoffed. "You expect everything of me, Noel, and you have to understand that I can't be that for you. I want to--I want to so severly--but I can't. I love that you depend on me, but not to the point where you can't stand on your own two feet alone."

"Pfft," I groaned. "I don't mean anything to you. Just a boy. Just Noel."

James had that look in his eye, like he was thinking something over, all glossy and darkened.

"You want to know how much you mean to me?" he asked. I sat up and nodded. "Fine."

He stomped up to me, leaned down, and kissed me. I can't say anything more than that because I didn't understand it. Deep down, I knew this was what I had hoped for. But I couldn't. My mind kept going between the present and the day I had arrived--what the rulebook said.

This wasn't allowed.

I couldn't be doing this.

But I did it.

I opened my mouth a bit wider, and put my hand on the nape of his neck, just as he did the same. For my first kiss with a boy, it was spectacular. We were so in sync that it felt like floating on air. Like I had someone who understood fully what I wanted.

.....

So you now understand. Four months, ten days, and three hours ago, I got here. I met him. I felt stupid things and did stupid things. From the moment I stepped foot here, I knew it wasn't going to end well.

Well, not really here. I am not currently in the school. Got kicked out weeks ago. I'm waiting by the side of the road, watching the small building Darlene's husband had built.

The Highland School for Troubled Kids. I saw parents pulling up to visit their kids and other kids being checked out. If you ask me, the building looked haunted.

Stuff really changed after that day when well-known homophobe Miles walked in on us. For James, especially. My parents wouldn't care if I was gay or bi, but they would care about the expulsion, so I did my best to stop news from travelling.

Frankly, I don't care that we got kicked out. I just care about James and him getting out of the 'school' before someone notices how conspicuous a seventeen-year-old looks sitting like this in a car.

And there he was.

He looked beautiful, even though his hair has lost it's fluff and his eyes look tired even from afar. Even though this place put him through hell. He looked beautiful.

James wass running around the building wackily and with as much speed as he has, one black duffle bag in hand. When I heard him whisper, "Break me out," over the phone, I never expected this.

When he reached the car, he immediately opened the door and jumped inside.

"Hey, how are you--"

"Drive, Watson," he said. And before I could ask, also said, "Because I'm Sherlock." As I eased my foot onto the pedal and felt the car gaining more and more energy, I looked back at him.

"Yeah, a Sherlock that was locked in a conversion center," I joked.

"I love you, but I don't want to talk about it."

"Gotcha," I responded, turning back toward the wheel.

As the sun glistened from behind the clouds, I added, "Love you too. I'm glad you're back." James gripped my hand with his.

"Me too."