Hurricane Jones [boyxboy]

hurricane jones [9]

[Claire; Cowboys by Portishead]

word count: 2671
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I'd never been in a real relationship.

Sure, I had guys I was interested in but they were either: a) never interested in a scrawny outcast or b) famous, which was what happened most often than not and was also a common factor of the first point.

Fact of the matter is: no one liked me. No one had ever showed interest in liking me and no one would ever like me.

At least that's what I'd convinced myself at the awkward age of sixteen where everyone else had been getting their hearts broken and I'd been pondering over if love was just a societal construct that was just a figment of my imagination. Thinking along those lines had brought me to the jabber in my head that maybe everything was actually nothing and it was all apart of my imagination.

That would be the point in time in which I'd stop thinking so solipsistic and force my legs to propel my body and move somewhere with people.

Anyways, I'd never been in a real relationship and it was August 20th when a taste of what I'd been missing had dangled itself above me. It was a Wednesday, I'd only known that because my sister, Claire had been wearing a pink shirt that morning. She only wore pink on Wednesdays. The temperature on the bus was muggy and well above 80 degrees, some boy I hadn't noticed had been sticking to me like a second skin during the crowded ride to school and inside I'd been cringing.

There was sweat on my brows and on my back and in my hair and I hated it so when I'd finally been able to depart from the hell-ride, I'd tugged my collar out as far as it could go and thanked whoever was listening that my school enjoyed blasting the air to tundra-like temperatures. It'd been the end of the day, seventh period Chem, when I was shivering. The heat of the day had worn off and my body, being so small, couldn't protect me from the cold blasting through the  duct that conveniently sat above my lab table.

I cursed my teacher for assigning me there at the beginning of the year and never changing despite my many complaints, informing her that I was chronically cold.

I'd been tapping my pencil against my paper to hold off on being loud as Dalton sat beside me. Through the weeks working beside him, I'd realized that he never really had an interest in the work, never really cared to do it but when the tests rolled around, he'd always passed them with flying colors.

There was something off with him but when was there not? His roots were re-bleached, hair styled and eyes looked brighter. He wasn't wearing the sweatpants that he'd fallen into a cycle of wearing since I'd found him crying on the restroom floor and his shirt was ironed, not a wrinkle in sight.

But that wasn't what had made me anxious, no it was the way he was staring at me, eyes a shocking blue and basically glued to the side of my face. He'd been shamelessly and openly gazing at me the entire class period, plump bottom lip pulled into his mouth as if he were thinking hard about something and I wasn't used to this.

I wasn't used to him looking at me let alone staring and I'd been fidgety, my pencil sliding back and forth between my fingertips. When the teacher had instructed us to finish our worksheets together, noise had erupted throughout the class and I'd hesitantly turned to Dalton's waiting eyes.

I'd been a second into discussing some intermolecular forces when Dalton had whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear, "Go out with me."

Nope. He didn't ask that, I didn't hear him right, the words 'go out with me' never left his mouth. No they did not, nope, not at all. And even if they did, he probably didn't mean it in that context. He could've meant 'go outside with me' or 'go... Out of this... Class' oh shut up, Gabe.