Love, Lance - 1. Paparazzi

He tied up his long, violet coloured hair into a knot on the top of his head. He was in front of his mirror, everything he needed on his desk. Lights on. Playlist blaring. Showtime.

"We are the crowd. We're c-coming out."

Primer first. We want that make-up to stick!

"Got my flash on, it's true. Need that picture of you. It's so magical. We'd be so fantastical. Leather and jeans. We're rock glamorous. Not sure what it means. But this photo of us,"

Foundation next.

"It don't have a price. Ready for those flashing lights. Cause you know that baby I..."

Yas! The chorus!

"I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you 'til you love me," Lance happily sang along with the music blaring from his laptop, using his duo fibre brush to cover the imperfections on his face. "Papa-paparazzi!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Lola banged on the wall that separated their bedrooms.

"Baby there's no other superstar. You know that I'll be your papa-paparazzi," Lance continued singing, ignoring his little sister, making especially sure to blend into his neck so he didn't look like Oompa Tricia from Form Five. If I stop singing, she'd only find another way to pick on me. Too gay. Too weird. Too embarrassing. And apparently, if this morning was any indication, too happy. It must be exhausting being as dour as Lola. No wonder she was cranky all the time. Concealer. Hmm. I think we could go for a little more than that, but let's not overdo it. Better safe than sorry! Under the eyes. Draw attention to your eyes. They're going to pop with these new purple contact lenses!

"Promise I'll be kind, but I won't stop until that boy is mine!" Lance tried his best to match the high notes, but his voice was too deep. Still, he dreamed of being the one to give that performance. Up on that stage, dazzling thousands of fans who all loved him. That's the life for me.

"Oh my god!" Lola thumped the wall again. "Stop!"

"Baby you'll be famous! Chase you down until you love me! Papa-paparazzi!" Lance continued, but this time his bedroom door flew open.

"Oi, save it for the shower," Garth warned him, and Lance laughed.

"I thought I was doing well!" He smiled, his eyes fixed on his reflection while he put his face on. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

"You're okay," Garth agreed, joining his second son in the mirror, putting his hands on the chair. "But you need to stop winding your brother and sister up."

"My whole existence winds them up," Lance replied, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "I may as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb."

"Can you please try not to make it worse?" Garth asked him gently, but Lance did not respond well.

"That's unfair!" He frowned and raised his voice. "You make it sound like everything I do is designed to spite them when all they do is try to tear me down."

"Because you're a freak?" Nicky shouted from across the hall, and Lance shook his head.

"My point exactly," Lance made eye contact with his father through the mirror. "Why aren't you in there telling him not to make things worse? How come it's always my fault, Dad?"

"Oh he's getting a hiding for that, don't you worry," Garth told him quietly. "I'm not in here to pick on you, Lance. I'm just telling you that the singing isn't necessary."

"Hmm," Lance moved from the foundation to the highlighter. "How can you even compare Nicky, Lola and me? How can you tell me that what I'm doing is on the same level as them? Singing along in my room to the music I love, is that the same as when Lola spreads fake rumours about me at school or Nicky dumps his porridge on my head? When they call me poof, fag, freak, all of those things. It's unfair, and you know it. I don't know why you let them treat me like rubbish."

"I'll talk to them," Garth promised, crouching down so that his face was level with his son's. Without the glamour and makeup, Lance would look a lot like him. Nicky, too. But that wasn't how the fourteen-year-old rolled. He liked to dazzle. To create. To be someone entirely his own. Purple hair. Purple nails. Soon, his pink lips would be glittery purple too, and his eyelids and eyebrows as well. "Are you sure you want to go to school like this, Lance?"

"Yes!" Lance felt like being rude to his father, but he chose not to. He was tired of answering this question every day. Every week. It came from caring, though. Lance did not have an easy time being himself. Garth only wanted to ease his burden, but it's not that simple, Lance thought. To choose between homophobic hate and dysphoria was like choosing to be blind or deaf. He figured he might as well take the option that allowed him to feel comfortable in his own skin.

"Alright, my lad!" Garth nodded after a pause. "You be careful, though, you hear? Those chavs down the road are gonna give you a lotta grief. Stay with your girls."

"I'll be okay!" Lance reassured him, moving to the eyeliner next. "I'm friends with all their girlfriends! If they make a move on me, they won't get laid for a month. I'll make sure of it."

"Bloody Lance," Garth shook his head, chuckling at his little boy's humour. Lance laughed too. "You're making me age so fast, kid, but you're worth every hair that falls out of my head. If anyone gives you trouble, you let me know."

"Lola and Nicky, for a start," Lance replied uncomfortably. "I know they hate me, but they don't have to be so obvious about it. You know?"

"I'll give them both a talking to, don't you worry about that, young man," Garth kissed Lance on top of his violet coloured hair. "You're the bravest kid I know, Lance. Don't let the others drag you down. You're perfect the way you are, and I'll give anyone who tells you otherwise a slap."

"No!" Lance laughed, spinning around in his comfortable computer chair and hugging his father - careful to avoid letting his face touch his father's vest. "No more nights in the nick! You're getting a reputation!"

"I'd spend every night in the nick if it meant you were safe," Garth's hands, rough and calloused from years of bricklaying, rubbed his son's back, soft and supple from years of moisturising and dance. "I'm off now, but I promise I'll give your brother and sister the business when I get home from work. You focus on having a good day, alright?"

"Love you, Dad," Lance smiled at him. While he felt as though he was the black sheep of the family and his father could do more to bridge the gap between the children, he was grateful for the father he had. This man protected him as best he could. He loved his eccentric, gay son. So did Sue. It was just a shame that Nicky and Lola had so much trouble accepting him. Nicky was a football jock, so his hatred of Lance stemmed much from homophobia and toxic masculinity issues. Lola's reputation as Lance's sister damaged her social life, so she resented him as well. Oh, well, Lance thought. Two family members out of four isn't a bad hand, per se. It could have been a lot worse. Let's get that contour going. We've got a fierce cheekbone game. We'd have to be a nutter not to bring it out!

Twenty minutes later, Lance was satisfied with his appearance. Androgynous. Purple. Lovecraft. I love it. It doesn't matter what anybody else thinks. The girls are jealous of my skills, and the boys are uncomfortable because I'm prettier than their girlfriends.

"Nope! No fucking way," Nicky greeted him with more animosity than usual when Lance, dressed in his tacky school uniform of a robin's egg polo shirt underneath a navy jumper and blazer with grey pants and black shoes, joined his big brother at the kitchen table. "You're gonna get it so hard from the lads looking like that. Take it off."

"I'm gonna get it?" Lance smirked and played with his straightened, purple hair. "Are you threatening me with a bad day or a good day, Nick? I never quite know with you."

"Stop being so bent!" Nick complained, shaking his head with shame and returning to his cocoa puffs. "You're such a tosser. Everyone in Sixth Form laughs about you. You know that, right? And I have to hear it. I get shit all day long because you want to be a freak."

"That sounds like your problem, not mine," Lance replied, tapping his long, violet-painted nails on the table. He didn't feel much like breakfast today. Maybe he'd gnaw on an apple on his way to school. "If you're so insecure about what everyone in your class thinks, maybe you should stop listening or remove the pole from your arse."

"You're the one to talk about a pole in the arse," Nicky sniped, but Lance didn't care. He heard it all day long from his sister, brother and neighbours. Most of the people in the street. Nicky was the least of his worries. "You're a waste of space, and I wish you were never born."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise I was wasting so much space," Lance taunted his brother. "I should have followed your example instead."

Lance gestured with his hand to the trophy case across the room to the living area. He had over a dozen medals, ribbons and trophies in there. Dancing, mostly. Lance loved to dance. He'd been doing it since before he had his first birthday - Sue still had the video of him wagging his little bum to Cyndi Lauper before comically falling backwards into the dog's water dish. He won several competitions. Ballet and ballroom were his specialities. Lola, to her credit, was doing very well for herself too. She was an intellectual and won several spelling bees and oral presentations. Nicky's most prestigious awards were participation ribbons and a B+ on a physics test he took two years ago. If they handed out awards for beating up nerds and queers or underage drinking, then he'd well ahead of the pack.

"What? You're not even going to threaten to sock me?" Lance asked. Nicky shrugged. He looked like such a chav. Hair buzzed short and a piercing in his nose. When I'm rich and famous, I'm not going to be the one who pays bail for Nicky when he gets arrested for smoking meth and killing a prostitute.

"Why would I? Everyone at school is gonna do it for me," he slurped the rest of his chocolatey milk out of the bowl and left it on the table. "Have fun with that, other sister."

Other sister. That was what Nicky called him. It was intended to be an insult, of course, but Lance chose not to think of it that way. Nicky's casual misogyny was something Lance did not put energy into. The perpetual homophobia and hate. Ugh. Who has the time? I have dreams. Places I want to see. People I want to meet. Things I want to do. Letting Nicky drag me down to his level is only ever going to hold me back, and I plan on going all the way to the stars.

"Oh, my heavens!" Sue was the next one in the kitchen. A plump lady with dark brown hair and big oval glasses dressed in her fluffy pink dressing gown. "You're going all out today!"

"I woke up early so I thought I'd have some fun," Lance smiled with glittery violet lips at his mother. He had indeed gone the full mile. "Do you like it?"

"Of course!" Sue crept up and squeezed him from behind. "You look gorgeous, love! You always do. Are you sure you want to go to school like that, though?"

"I want to go everywhere like this," Lance told her stiffly. She was still hugging him, and it calmed him down. "If I could tattoo my face this way, I would."

"What happens if you decide you like red better?" Sue asked, running her fingers through his violet hair. "You'd be buggered, my lad. How about you tone it down a bit for school?"

"There are no rules saying I can't wear makeup at school," Lance replied stubbornly. No. I like it. I'm going to wear it. I don't care who has anything to say about it.

"I'm just saying, love," Sue knelt so they were at the same eye level. "We love and support you in everything you do, but you make yourself a target for the psychos out there who don't... understand you."

"I'll be okay!" Lance reassured her. He was growing tired of having this conversation several times a week. "I'm the queen of England."

"Yes," Sue laughed. "Yes, you are. Alright, I'll be in the car in ten minutes."

"You don't have to keep driving me," Lance stood up and stretched. He needed to brush his teeth, and then he'd be on his way to school. Sitting next to Lola. Such fun. "I can walk."

"I'll let you wear all that on your face," Sue's stern voice warned him and she pointed at him. "But no way are you walking through this neighbourhood like that."

"Okay," Lance took that compromise.

It wasn't really a compromise though, was it? He didn't intend to walk to school at all, but he knew his mother would freak if he threatened to do so. It didn't feel right to manipulate her, but if that was what it took to put an end to the discussions about his appearance, that was what he would do. Be Lance - at any cost. Sue was more firm than Garth, and neither Nicky nor Lola were brave enough to snipe at him while they were in the car with her. Sue's rapier tongue could strike at a moment's notice. Once parked, Lola and Nicky were always fast to abandon their freak brother as soon as they could, and Lance usually walked the last of the block on his own. Nobody shouted anything at him, which was a pleasant surprise. There was pointing, staring and snickering, but no audible abuse. It must be gearing up to be a good day, Lance thought.

"Janey!" Lance caught his friend's attention the moment he saw her. While alone, he was vulnerable. With a friend by his side, he was safer. Simple survival. Janey adored him. He adored her.

"Oh my gosh, you look fierce as fuck!" Janey squealed in joy when she saw the work he'd put into his look this morning and ran up to meet him. She was a pretty girl, slim with hourglass hips and a generous bra size. She had curly auburn hair and brilliant green eyes, but the scar from a cleft lip at birth took a heavy toll on her self-confidence. Lance loved her, though. All of her.

"Thank you, my darling!" Lance fluffed his hair with his hand and fluttered his eyelashes, heavy with thick mascara. "I put the masc in mascara."

"I feel frumpy next to you!" Janey complained, taking everything in. "Ew, no, we can't be seen together. You're showing me up."

"Your two quid lip gloss not doing the job you were hoping for?" Lance teased her, and she laughed. "You look beautiful." He took her hands in his. "If I were a straight boy I'd be all over you."

"You're already all over me," she yanked her hands away. "I don't wanna imagine if you were straight!"

"Hey! We'd make some beautiful babies!" Lance smirked, and the two giggled as they walked into the school together.

Settling into the class wasn't so difficult. Lance had several friends. While Janey was his favourite, Narelle and Amber were dear to him. The four of them had been close since kindergarten. Very few boys spoke to Lance unless absolutely necessary, though. It ruined their facade, he thought with a wry smile as his male classmates actively avoided engaging with him. To speak to me is to brand yourself a potential queer. How sad it must be to be so fragile. They think their machismo protects them, but it's the most brittle force in the world. It'll work to their detriment in the long run. I don't have self-imposed limitations. It's a waste of time. That's why their words can't hurt me. It's nothing but thinly veiled insecurity, and I'm Lance.

"So most of you know me already, but I'm Mr Bell," the teacher introduced himself at the beginning of the lesson. "Welcome to the Third Form, everyone! The year went pretty bloody fast, didn't it? Then this one's lasted all of three hours, too."

Lance already decided he was a fan of Mr Bell. He was a funny man, and he seemed to enjoy his job. Mrs Dwyer, the librarian, was possibly the sourest old tart Lance had ever met in his life, and it was a mystery as to why she didn't just piss off if she hated the job and children so much. He was convinced many of his teachers were in a similar boat - they hated their job, but the market was rough, and they had no other options. Mr Bell wasn't like that, though. He was smart and witty, and that brand of optimistic that didn't get tiresome or downright creepy.

"So," Mr Bell continued and Lance realised he'd zoned out into his own thoughts. "This is the stage of your education where we want you to start putting thought into where you want to end up. What do you want out of life? Are you ready to work for it? Anything is possible for you. All of you. So, Kajol, what do you want to do when you leave school? Do you have any ideas?"

"Oh," Kajol, an Indian-Australian girl with the least amount of personality Lance had ever seen before in his life, stood up shyly. "I don't know."

"You know what?" Mr Bell tilted his head, and his light brown curls flopped with it. "That's absolutely fine. That's why we're starting to put some thought into it! You don't have to have the answers yet. Most of us still don't have those answers until after we're thirty!" A light chuckle spread throughout the room, and Lance smiled. "How about you, Francesca? Do you have any thoughts on what you want to do when you graduate?"

"I want to study abroad," Francesca didn't stand up, but she replied with confidence. "Maybe a year or two in America, then I want to be a nurse."

"Wow!" Mr Bell laughed and so did several classmates. His laugh was infectious. "So some of us have our futures planned out better than others, and that's okay! That doesn't mean the rest of us are getting left behind. It's not about knowing where you want to be thirty years from now right away. Heck, you guys are only fourteen or fifteen! But it is something to start thinking about. You, Lance!" Mr Bell pointed to Lance, and the boy stood up. Chuckles and snickers circled the room, but Mr Bell stopped them. "No, keep it to yourself, guys and girls. Now, Lance. Knowing that anything is possible for you, what comes to mind? What do you want to do when you're older?"

There was only one answer to that question. That one dream he'd always had. All the dancing, singing and acting. He knew what he wanted more than anything. He wanted to be an entertainer. A celebrity.

"Dance, sing, act, I'm not sure yet!" Lance told him with a grin. There was one thing he was certain of, though. "I'm going to be famous."

I'm not sure how much I'll write on this - depends on how it's received, I suppose! I sometimes regret not making Lance the protagonist of To The Stars, so Love, Lance was born. 
Thanks to everyone who read it!