Chapter Six

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        “You’re about the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

            Cliff was wearing a sweatband during lunch. As Danny sat down next to my pretentious, pink-haired locker neighbor, he couldn’t help but comment on it. I mean, yeah, Danny was right, but I didn’t feel like stating the obvious. Fisher was too immersed in his History textbook to notice, he’s always too immersed in something to notice anything. I hate history, by the way, the stories always piss me off.

            “Gay isn’t an insult,” Cliff replied in his soft, snobby voice.

            Danny rolled his eyes and smacked Cliff’s shoulder, “No one said it was an insult. It’s not my fault you took it that way.”

            Cliff rubbed his forearm where Danny’s hand connected and scooted further along his chair. Cliff and Danny have never truly liked each other, not really anyways. They’ll stand each other, I mean, like, tolerate each other’s shit, but that’s about it. I think they knew they wouldn’t be very good friends the very minute they met, considering Danny greeted him with a sloppy handshake and wrapped his arm around Cliff’s lanky shoulders. Remember, Cliff and physical human contact don’t really go together; Cliff and Danny just don’t go together.

            “But you meant it that way.”

            “Nope, just stated the obvious.”

            “But you meant it that way.”

            “Nah.”

            “But you did—“

            “Just take the damn thing off, for Christ’s sake.”

             “Don’t want to,” Cliff shrugged. He unwrapped his chicken sandwich and began arranging it neatly upon his tray. Danny just kept staring at Cliff’s navy blue sweatband intensely, the pain of annoyance crossing all his features. Anyone with a decent field of vision could tell it bothered the hell out of him.

            “Just take it off,” Danny whined.

            “Buy me a drink first,” Cliff said, nonchalantly. Fisher snickered beside me, and I just rolled my eyes. You can’t eat goddamn mashed potatoes in peace these days.

            “Ugh, you’re so gay,” Danny exclaimed.

            Cliff’s face went a little red. I felt like this was the moment I’ve been anticipating since the moment I met Cliff; his confession. I could just picture how the poor bastard would stumble over his words as he tried to say, “Yeah? And what if I am?” or “You’re goddamn right about that.” I wish he would do something badass for once, just once, for Christ’s sake. But no, Cliff just continued to paint his cheeks crimson.

            “Fuck off,” Cliff muttered.

            “Really, Cliff, you’re no fun, dude. No fun, really. You know what’s worse than a closet gay?”

            “A soccer player who can’t kick a ball?” He snapped back. Finally, Cliff grows a spine.

            “I can kick a ball. Right, Owen? I can kick a ball. I can.”

            “Anyone can kick a ball,” I answered, “But goddamn it, you suck at it.”

            Cliff nodded as he chewed his chicken sandwich thoroughly. I mean, yeah, Cliff was a stupid, pretentious neat freak, but seeing him turn red like that was just bothering the hell out of me. I don’t know why, but it was.

            “You guys are a bunch of bastards, seriously. All I’m doing is trying to save Cliff from public humiliation; that’s what friends do.”

            “But you’re the one humiliating him, moron. Stop making a big fucking deal about it. Let him come to school with a speedo if the kid wants.”

            Danny sighed, shoved his books to the side, and put his hands up in defeat. “Whatever, your head, not mine. Sorry.”

            “That was a really gay apology,” Cliff retorted, sarcastically.

            “Hey, how about you shut up? Gay isn’t an insult.”

            “Sorry, forgot about your daddy issues.”

            Danny’s eyes widen, “Holy shit, I think Cliff just turned into a man. Congrats, bro. How does the last stage of puberty feel?”

            “You’ll know when you finally get to it.”

            “ZINGER!” Fisher yelled, suddenly not interested in the Italian Renaissance anymore. I swear to God, I attract morons like moths to a flame. I swear to God I do.

            “Okay, okay. Truce, Clifford, truce.”

            Cliff smiled triumphantly and took a big bite out of his chicken sandwich. A minute or so of silence passed after the table calmed down. Fisher quickly went back to reading his textbook, Danny turned on his phone, and I played with my mashed potatoes. After a while, though, Danny’s voice emerged again.

            “No, but seriously, are you gay?”

             Cliff didn’t sit with us anymore after that. 

A/N: This chapter serves absolutely no purpose and is about as random as an eleven year old's attitude. Cheers. - Parker 

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