The Boyfriend Tag - 3. First Impressions

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

"Well, folks, that's pretty much how we first met. Kinda cheezy in a way, don't you think?" I said to the camera.

"I remember exactly how excited you were of every little thing in the room," Em giggled. "I thought you were being really cute."

"Yeah, yeah. That's 'cause I'd lived through the worst of boarding school. I didn't think such a place existed within the building." I reasoned.

"Right, okay, back to the questions. What was your first impression of each other?" Em read. "Hmm... This one's good. Honestly, I was afraid of you at first."

"Afraid of me? Really?" Was I that bad?

"Yeah, you looked like trouble, honestly. You seemed to be way taller from afar, but when I got closer, I realized you were shorter than me by a few inches," Em said thoughtfully, biting his lower lip as he reminisced. "Dark hair that stuck out at the top and really pale skin. Come to think of it, you looked like you came straight out of a tween vampire movie."

"Oh, come on, I'm not that bad," I argued.

"I didn't say you were," Em retorted. "I actually dig your looks. What really got to me were your eyes. Beautiful gray marbles surrounded by long dark lashes," Em sighed giddily. "And your eyebrow ring was cool too; complimented the whole badass look. Like I said, I felt a bit intimidated, but when I saw you running around the room like a kid, I felt more comfortable; and definitely gayer."

"Trust me, you're not the only one," I agreed. "As far as I thought at that time, I was straight. I even had a girlfriend. But those feelings I had when I first saw you, got me thinking otherwise."

"Really? You never told me exactly how you felt," Em said. "Go on then, now's your chance. Tell the whole story." He demanded.

"Well, at first I..."

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At first, I didn't think much about him when I saw him entering the lobby. I just thought he was cute—and nagged myself for thinking so. But after hanging out with him that day, my impression of him changed—for the better!

After Em was done unpacking, we went down to the cafeteria―located on the right hand side of the lobby on the ground floor. You've probably heard how the food tastes like cardboard in boarding schools―or any school for that matter. But at St. George, we were lucky it was at least edible. And sometimes, depending on the cook's mood, or if there were parents about, the food could be quite nice.

We went straight to the lunch line and grabbed a tray each. I took a bowl of grilled chicken salad, a huge slice of meat pie, and a bag of cream puff for dessert. I told you they serve great stuff. Em only took a bowl of coleslaw and a container of sliced fruits.

"Really bro? That's it?" I asked in disbelieve. Kid eats like a girl.

"Uhm... Yeah. Why?" He seemed puzzled.

"'Cause there's no meat on your tray. Uh-oh, don't tell me you're a vegan."

"Oh no, I'm no vegan. I just had a huge breakfast so I'm not really that hungry."

"Then help me out, grab a bag of chicken popcorns; I'll eat your share."

"Ha! Only if you help me find my homeroom later."

"Dude, you don't even have to ask. I'll be your personal tour guide."

"Oh... Really? Hehe, thanks." He looked down at his tray. I swear he was blushing.

"I'll go get the forks and knives; you go grab an empty table, ‘kay? And don't forget the popcorns." I instructed him and ran to where all the tableware was kept and took two sets and some napkins.

Once I was done putting dressing on my salad, I went to find Em. I immediately saw the top of his blond mop but to my annoyance, I also saw several other heads. I made my way sulkily to the table where Em was sitting with a group whom I knew were the biggest jerks in all of the school. They were the sons of successful businessmen, millionaires, and aristocrats; and they would constantly remind people of that. For a second, I almost bailed and turned to go find another table, but Em saw me and waved sheepishly, which caused the whole group to turn to look at me. Now, I wasn’t really the nerdy and awkward kid who was always the target of bullies; in fact, I was actually pretty popular. But this particular group hated me, and they weren’t really good at hiding that fact. I cursed for the millionth time that day and made my way as slowly as I could. I saw there was an empty seat Em probably saved for me, and hoped someone, anyone, would grab it before I could make it. But alas, I found myself sitting awkwardly next to Em and one of the guys.

"This charity case is your roommate?" One of the guys, Darcy I think was his name—even his name sounded posh—crinkled his nose at me, which almost made me laugh because he was trying so hard, it was actually funny. "What the hell was Mrs. Landon thinking?" Oh boy, here we go again.

"She must've made a huge mistake," said this short kid who was two grades below me—and still had the guts to be an asshole. "There's no way she could've placed that with Emmanuel."

"You know, I can tell what you're playing at, you leech." Darcy snorted. "First Elijah, then Emmanuel? Man, you're trying way too hard and way too soon."

"Exactly," Another one of them agreed. This guy was the biggest and the laziest of the three. I didn't really mind him so much because he usually just agreed with everything and didn’t really say anything on his own.

"Look, I don't understand what you're implying, Darcy," I spat his name like sour milk. "And don't you dare mention that son of a bitch in front of me. Now, can we please eat? I'm starving," I was really pissed now—and hungry.

"You can deny all you want, you mutt, but we can see right through your cheap schemes," Shorty sneered. "Who knows, you might've sucked Crossfield too, to get yourself in here."

"Okay that's it. I am not taking any more of this shit," I began to push my chair back but stopped in surprise when I felt Em grab my wrist. "You are not going anywhere," His ice cold stare bore into me. He then turned to the other guys. "And you guys better leave us alone. If you're gonna be jerks, then go be jerks elsewhere."

Wow...I am deeply touched... And scared.

Both Darcy and Shorty were dumbstruck. It was 'Goliath' who spoke first in his calm and lazy drawl.

"I think that's enough guys, we should head to class." He began to stand with the other two following suit.

"I don't understand you, Emmanuel," Darcy began after regaining his composure. "And maybe you don't understand you either. But you will come around; Elijah did."

"Say his name one more time, Princess, and I'll break your pretty nose." I growled at him.

"Enough, Kyle," Em tightened his grip. "Shut up and just leave."

"This ain't over yet." Shorty hissed as they made their way to the door. Everyone stayed out of their way, making a path.

"Who the hell were they?" Em asked, letting go of my hand.

"I don't know, you tell me,"

"I’d just set my tray down and out of nowhere they ambushed me. They didn't even ask if they could join me."

"They think they have the right to do anything they want just 'cause their dads have more money than everyone else's," I spat bitterly.

"Yeah, right," Em rolled his eyes.

"Ignore them; I doubt they would pick on you. I can tell they see you as one of their own."

"To hell with that. I'm not an asshole. And how can I ignore them when they're picking on you."

"I'm used to it; the more you fight back, the more they like it." I shook my head. "Honestly, they're a bunch of drama queens; they love making a scene. I've been on their episodes countless times. I think I may be the hero in their little drama, and the hero always wins; in a fist fight at least. But most of the time, I try to stay out of trouble. So, I'd just walk away."

"You mean, this isn't the first time they did this to you?" Em sounded exasperated.

"Isn't it obvious, that we're such great friends," I said sarcastically.

I could see Em was genuinely concerned, and usually I'm a tough nut to crack. But seeing him feel bad for me made me feel bad for myself. And the only time I'll let that happen is when I'm in bed at night; face buried in my pillow, suppressing my sobs.

"But, that's awful. Of all people, only you?"

"Pretty much, I'm their favorite toy." My voice started quivering.

"But why? I don't see any reason to—"

"Because I'm on a scholarship, okay?!" I didn't mean to yell, but I was so frustrated; I couldn’t help getting all emotional.

Em fell silent as I fought back tears. I hoped against hope that he wouldn't turn against me. That Darcy's little gang was wrong, that I was worth something, and that Em thought so too. It would hurt me if he told me to get lost. If he did, I knew I'd act all tough, suck back the tears, and start a fight. I always do when threatened. But as tough as I seem on the outside, I knew I couldn't handle the pain inside. No amount of physical perseverance can help overcome the hurt.

"So, what?!" Em startled me when he banged his fist on the table. "Kyle, the real thrash are those guys. They can have all the money and power in the world, but if they got an attitude that's as disgusting as that, there's no way they can make it far and be happy at the same time. 'Cause all they depend on is something that's not even theirs to begin with; it's technically their dads' money, not theirs. There’s no way they would ever feel that self-satisfaction of achieving something on their own. They're belittling people who aren't as fortunate as them because they are NOT happy. They're not happy 'cause they think they're perfect. But if they're so perfect, how come everyone else seems a lot better off than they are? 'Cause they're missing the true meaning of life; it's the fight, not the victory."

I was speechless. I literally lost my ability to speak, mainly because I didn't expect Em to take my side, and to deliver that inspirational speech. I sat there, teary-eyed and frozen. I didn't know what to say, or how to react. I didn't even know what I was feeling. I knew I was relieved and happy, but there was something else. Something I had ignored for so long, and Em had re-surfaced that unexplainable feeling with his big heart—and mouth.

"Anyway, aren't you gonna eat that popcorn?"

"Huh?"

"You wanted me to get it for you, right?" Em grinned at me. "You promised you'd eat it and be my personal tour guide."

"Em...," I managed to croak. "I..."

"Save it for later. You said you were hungry, now let's dig in." And he threw a popcorn at me. "Can I have a bite of that cream puff? It looks good."

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After a dramatic and emotional meal, I asked if Em had received a note from the school that had his schedule and room number. He produced it from his pocket and handed it to me. I pulled mine out too and began comparing.

"Oh cool! You're in Mrs. Gingham's class, so am I. She teaches math. I'm telling you, she's a walking landmine; make the wrong move and she'll explode Then she’ll send you to the office with a three hour detention slip." I warned.

I had been her victim countless times, even when I wasn’t in her class. I thought she personally disliked me for the same reason as Darcy's group. And like with Darcy's group, I completely ignored her and would even pull her leg at times when feeling cheeky.

"Yikes! Is she that bad?" Em yelped.

"No kidding. I'm not even exaggerating. I don't know if she'll go psycho on you though."

"How come?"

"'Cause you're not a charity case like me."

"Stop it." Em actually seemed irritated. "Like I said, it doesn't matter."

"Okay, okay. Hey, thanks for everything back there." Now I feel like crying again. "I would've died if you pulled a Darcy on me."

"Kyle, I..." He paused as he was thinking. "I... Actually I really li—"

Before he could finish, a piercing ring echoed throughout the hall.

"Time for homeroom. You were saying?"

"Eh? Never mind," Em shook his head. "We'll have plenty of time to talk later."

"Yeah, we have the whole night to ourselves," I agreed. First days of school are always so easy and carefree. "Come on then, move."

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I wasn't kidding when I said Mrs. Gingham hated me. Em and I were a bit late in coming into class because of the overcrowded corridors; she gave me a good nag, but didn't say anything to Em. She told him to take a seat—he chose the tables right in the middle of the room—and held me by the door and went on and on about how undisciplined I was. She finally let me go when the second bell rang, signifying the start of class. I made my way to where Em was sitting and settled my bag into the seat next to him. Em smiled and leaned closer.

"You were right, she is horrible," he whispered.

"Told you so."

"What did I say about respect, Hambusch?" Mrs. Gingham yelled at me. "It's disrespectful to turn up late in class, and it definitely is disrespectful to talk during class. I don't know what your folks taught you, but they certainly did no good."

Now she only said the last part quietly as she turned to face the board, but I sure as hell heard her. I'm used to others denigrating me, but when they bring my people up, that would be the end of it.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Gingham." My blood was boiling now and my heart was pounding hard against my chest. "Could you please repeat that last part?"

"Well, if you insist," she said smugly. "I said: I'm sure your parents did nothing of teaching you how to behave, but rather taught you how to act exactly like the destitute you and your people are."

At that moment, I completely lost all senses. I was even angrier at the fact she had the guts to make it sound even worse, than she was of repeating it. If she had just used those exact words, the only thing I would've done was probably fought back verbally. I wouldn't have lurched at her. But I did. I could feel Em trying to hold me back but I thrashed my arms wildly; my only focus was to meet Mrs. Ginghams' face with my fists. Soon, the whole class started pulling me out of the room. All I remembered after that was Mrs. Ginghams' stunned expression, as she watched the class shove me out the door. I know they weren't exactly mad at me; they just didn't want any more trouble. Some told me to just ignore her and get a grip, and some were even laughing and joking around as if I amused them with my outbreak. At the end, I was left to wander the halls on my own to calm down while class continued. I didn't know exactly what happened while I was gone, but I knew for sure I would have an appointment with the Headmaster at the end of the day. And I was right. Taylor, the head prefect who's also in my class, came up to me as I was sitting on one of the bleachers in the gym and handed me the note. He told me not to worry and that the class was ready to back me up if necessary. I assured him I'd be fine and thanked him before making my way to the office. I was calmer now. For as long as I sat on those bleachers, I wasn't thinking of anything. I was simply brain dead. I guess all the drama kinda wore me out.

I went into the office and was glad to see I wasn't alone. A kid whom I knew was in the class next to mine came out of the Headmasters' room just as I stepped in. I didn't really know him—didn't even know his name. But I had seen him a few times around school. And I knew he had a friend that follows him around like a puppy.

I smiled at him and he smiled back; his green eyes lit up with mischief.

"What did you do?" He asked with a cocky grin.

"You'll soon hear about it," I said. "The whole school probably will."

"Meh," He shrugged. "See ya, sport." And with that, he walked past me, purposely brushing his shoulder against mine. I couldn’t help but chuckle, looked back at him, and saw he was looking back too. He winked at me before opening the door and leaving.

I made my way to the Headmasters' door and cautiously knocked. I opened it slightly and peered in before entering. Dr. Hendrick Crossfield sat at his ornate wooden desk, working on some papers with his shoulders slumped. I could only see the top of his silver head as I stood behind a chair set directly across from him. He didn't look up for some time; still busy with his documents. I sat there and waited patiently until he finally put away his fountain pen and set aside his papers. He looked up at me, smiled and took off his glasses. For someone in his fifties, I dare say he was still in pretty good shape. With just a slight stubble like snow on his chin, he was well presented in a crisp dark brown suit, surprisingly no tie, with the top button of his dress shirt open, showing sprouts of silver chest hair. Why do I even notice all this?

Anyway, he saw me, smiled, took off his glasses, and beckoned me to sit. He had his hands clasped together in front of him as he observed me taking my place. This wasn't the first time I'd sat there but I felt slightly nervous this time, because I was here for a really bad reason. I attacked a frickin' teacher! I could get expelled for that. But seeing the calm smile on Dr. Crossfield's face, I relaxed a little.

"Now, I've heard what happened," he began, voice gruff and stern despite the friendly face. "But I'd like to hear it from you; with your own words. Begin."

"This isn't the first time, Sir," I said rather calmly. I'd spoken to him so many times I was already that comfortable.

"Oh? But this is the first time you've done anything like this. I don't mind Darcy and his little gang, because I understand their games. But a teacher? Now, that's not something I can easily shrug off. Something has to be done."

"She's no different than them."

"What exactly happened, Hambusch?"

So, I told him. From A to Z, in detail. What was said, what was done, everything. He listened intently as I explained, not once did he interrupt.

"So, I went off on my own, missed class, and now I'm here," I sighed. "That's pretty much it."

He didn't say anything for a moment. He seemed to be looking down at his desk, probably contemplating pulling my scholarship away and having me expelled. That thought annoyed me. It wasn't fair for everyone to treat me like rubbish just because I was on a scholarship. I worked just as hard as everyone else for it; harder, in fact. But if Crossfield were to take it back, then so be it. I was so angry I didn't care what happened. I might actually go back and kick both Mrs. Gingham's and Darcy's asses if he did send me home packing. My dark thoughts were interrupted when Crossfield cleared his throat.

"Hambusch, you, yourself said that this isn't the first time this has happened," He looked up at me, sounding a little less stern and little more sympathetic. "Then, I expect you to be able to contain yourself. I'm not saying that you shouldn't fight for your right, but you already have that right. The right to be here. I gave you that right, and I trust you to work well with it. Right now, you are jeopardizing it."

I kept quiet, but stared him straight in his eyes. Huh, they're gray too.

"I know it isn't fair, and I will have a word with Mrs. Gingham," he continued. "But you listen here, I still trust you can do well, and I’ll still keep you here. But this is the last time, understood? Any reports on you fist fighting or attacking teachers, and it's over. If you have any troubles, try talking about it instead. Come and see me if you have no one to turn to."

"Thank you, Sir. I'll keep that in mind."

"You won't be in Mrs. Gingaham's class anymore though, I'll arrange for you to be transferred to the next class. In Mr. Conery's."

I didn't say anything and just nodded. In truth, I was both glad and disappointed. Glad that I wouldn't face that witch anymore, but disappointed I'd have to leave Em. Never mind, I'd still see him every night.

"May I go now?" I asked sheepishly. "It's way over school hours and I need to gather my things before they lock up."

"Yes, you may." I stood up and turned towards the door. "Hambusch, remember what I said. Last chance."

I nodded and left. The corridors were empty by the time I got out. I went straight to my 'ex-homeroom' to get my things. The room was bathed in orange from the sunlight which shone through the large windows. Besides the slumped figure on one of the desks in the middle, the room was pretty empty. I walked over to my seat and saw Em had fallen asleep on his desk. Was he waiting for me?

I shook him lightly by the shoulder and he jolted in surprised, making me jump.

"There you are," he was still groggy; his words were jumbled up. "What took you so long?"

"Not my fault. Crossfield kept me in forever,"

"Who's Cropfield?"

"Crossfield," I corrected him. "The Head."

"Oh, whatever. Let's get outta here." He stretched and rubbed his eyes.

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"Sweet of ya to wait for me," I chided as he unlocked the door to our room. I hadn’t been handed my card yet. But I wouldn’t ask Mrs. Gingham for it; I'd ask the bitch downstairs instead. She might be a bitch, but she never thrash talked my folks. "You shouldn't have."

"I should, 'cause that's what buddies are for." He opened the door and we stepped in.

"Buddies, eh? And since when are we buddies?"

"Since I saved your ass, and you saved mine."

And to my horror, he poked my side, making me yelp and jump like an idiot.

"Don't do that! Geez..."

And of course, he did it again.

"Damn it, I said stop!"

"You started it." Em stuck his tongue out.

"I did NOT lay a finger on you," I roared.

"Okay, okay. So, are we buddies then?"

"Do you have to ask? Duh." I rolled my eyes.

"Good, then let's go get dinner together."

"You know... I've got an idea."

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Instead of sitting at the cafeteria, I suggested we take our food out to the courtyard and have a little picnic. Gay, I know. But we had a great time under the night sky. We went to a secluded spot near a clump of trees. It was barely lit, but the peace and serenity made the food taste a lot better—it didn't taste as good as it did this morning. We were making small talk throughout dinner, and I noticed that at times, Em seemed to look hesitantly at me, but looked away every time I turned to face him.

"You... Okay?" I asked as I caught him stealing glances at me when he thought I wasn't looking.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah. Hehe."

"You have something on your mind?"

"What do you mean?" He stammered.

"I think you do, shoot." I cast him an evil look.

"I've got nothing." He said almost whining.

"Yeah, you do, now spit it." It's my turn to poke his side.

"Yeah, very original," He rolled his eyes. "I'm immune to that."

"Aww... Come on! Pleeeeeassse..." I begged with puppy-dog eyes.

He fell silent for a moment, looking down at his half-empty fruit container as he obviously contemplated whether or not he should tell. At last, he spoke.

"I was just wondering, who is this Elijah."

"Oh... it's Eli, eh?" I somehow knew he'd eventually ask.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it. I kinda expected you to not."

"Well, I guess you've heard enough today. In fact, the whole school will tell you all about it at some point. But it's only fair if I tell you myself. You see, he's..."

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Shout out to Carlos Hazday for the amazing editing and to all who have supported me.