In the Closet (boy x boy)

17. No Respite For the Detained

Sunday, April 9th

I wake up to bird tweeting outside my window and a motorcyle roaring past my house on the road separating mine from Barb's. Then I'm assaulted by the memory that I have to enter school at ten in the morning on a Sunday and lament soudly. A swell of pride quickly replaces the irritation as I recall what I obtained that detention for. And then it's dejection's turn on my heartstrings because I might not be able to attend the zoo inauguration. The intensive college program in zoology I want to apply for is very competitive. I can't bear to receive a stain on my file, especially something indicating a lack of devotion after an engagement was made (although I did not agree to said engagement). I open my laptop with a new study on queen ants in mind. I still have a couple hours until the city bus passes, what better way to entertain myself than ants? I'm quickly distracted by a string of messages on Instagram coming from Barb.

@queen.barb: Billy
@queen.barb: Billy Miller
@queen.barb: Miller
@queen.barb: William Miller
@queen.barb: William

She stops typing when I view her previous message with a huff. Then she resumes.

@queen.barb: have you heard?
@_billy.miller_: I probably have but go right ahead anyway.
@queen.barb: Tavish fucked up the school's pool
@queen.barb: he put dish soap in the filter

I quirk an eyebrow. Try not to smile.

@_billy.miller_: He's always been a bit of an imbecile.
@queen.barb: he got detention billy
@queen.barb: today

Of course, he did. I didn't mention to her that he tried to get a detention by punching his brother because it seemed overkill yesterday. The issue was (and remains) missing the zoo inauguration, not the entirety of Tavish's shenanigans.

@_billy.miller_: And?
@queen.barb: don't you think it has something to do with you?
@_billy.miller_: Goodbye.

I close my laptop. Truth is, yes. Yes, I think it does. Yes, I'm aware it does. But that's not a discussion I wish to have. I smell breakfast downstairs and feel my stomach stir. Between breakfast and hopping on my bus, I convince my parents that I'm attending a zoo related event for the most part of my day and hope they won't call there to verify. It's not within their habits to care about me anyway. Not as much as watching the SuperBall at least. On the bus, a streaming message reminds me it's Easter and that it never mattered for my family. We barely celebrate most holidays. My mother hates Christmas. My father hates Christmas, Pride Month and everything in between. Briefly put, he hates anything that doesn't entail an endless flow beer and a comfy couch paired with a sports channel blasting on the TV. Yearly, we only acknowledge New Year because, well, it happens whether we celebrate it or not. In result, as a kid, I learned holidays by spending them at Barb's house.

The bus ride is over fast. I get off, dejected as my high school comes in view. Hopefully Tavish and I are kept apart. I enter the school and head to the classroom specified on Seamus' detention slip. There's a trolley outside, with a radio and cleaning supplies. I peek inside. Lo and behold, the concierge sits there at the front, staring off into the distance. Then I crane my neck to follow his gaze and reach a worn out yet still obnoxiously self-assured Tavish, sat at a desk in the middle of the class. They glare into the white of each other's eyes, unmoving. I breach the doorstep with a polite knock on the door and feel like I'm interrupting something. Some type of fight for dominance, maybe a staring contest of some sort. The concierge snaps out of it in a heartbeat, Tavish lags behind. He blinks repeatedly and shakes his head a bit, as if to awaken himself from an open-eyed nap.

"Hi, you must be William Miller," the concierge greets me with a wide smile that creases at the edge of his eyes. I don't think he remembers helping me clean my locker.