Be Myself! - 3. Odd Friendships

I quickly found out that if I spent all breaks with Jean’s group less people laughed behind my back or “accidentally” bumped into me so hard I almost fell. It also meant that Brandon and my former friends stayed clear of me, as no one dared to approach Jean at risk of being coerced into public love-making.

On Tuesday I tried to talk to Wendy again during our German class. I wrote her a message in a piece of paper (in German, because that was the language of communication in class) and threw it on her desk when the teacher was not looking. I had never done something like this before, and felt like a criminal as I watched her read the message. Even though I had breached far more serious school rules before, this act of clandestine communication still made me feel bad about myself, like I was disappointing yet another teacher.

At first I thought Wendy had not understood my writing (her German was not very good, I always had to help her study and explain things over and over again until she got it). She looked at the piece of paper torn from my jotter with some confusion, but then her face turned into something nasty and angry and she scribbled something furiously in the paper before throwing it back to me. It read ‘fuck you’ in bold capital letters with a triple underline and at least five exclamation marks.

Another piece of paper appeared in my desk. I looked around and saw Brandon smiling at me. His message read ‘Meet us at lunch time and we’ll talk. Come alone”. I sighed in relief; they wanted to talk. They would hear me after all. They were still my friends. Of course I would go, and of course I would not let Jean or the others follow me. I nodded to Brandon, who smiled in return. It looked like everything was going to be all right. It had not crossed my mind that Brandon’s message could be related to Wendy’s ‘expressive’ put down, or rather, that this was something other than Brandon’s attempt to make Wendy and I be friends again.

(...)

I would have to wait until lunch for this, though. At the morning break, Jean and his friends were once again surrounding me and talking about something or other. We were sitting in the grass by the rugby field, though Jean was more on Henry’s lap than on the grass proper. I did not pay much attention to what they were saying, thinking about what I was going to tell Brandon in two hours time. The ‘self-proclaimed gay club’ was nice enough, but I did not feel like I belonged with them. I wanted to be with my cool straight friends and my girlfriend.

“So, Oscar, you are coming for lunch with us, right?” asked Olivia, interrupting my chain of thoughts. She was sitting beside me, her legs bent so that she could support her head in her knees. She looked like she needed a good night sleep.

“Ah, well…”

“Don’t worry, I will drag him along.” said Hannah, looking at me as if saying I would better come or I would regret it. We had English after the break, so we would be in the same class and she would be perfectly positioned to grab my arm and pull me towards her friends against my will.

“I… I had some other plans…” I told them, looking at my own feet.

“What plans?” asked Jean, in a tone that suggested he had some of his own and hoped I was thinking the same thing.

“Nothing important, just…”

“If it’s not important, than you can stay with us, right?” Olivia’s tone was hopeful, almost desperate. I was surprised when I realised I was feeling bad for disappointing her.

“No, I’m sorry, but I really can’t”. Her face sunk. I really felt sorry for her.

“You are planning to fuck someone in secret! Oh, you sneaky boy…” Jean was suddenly kneeling behind me, playing with my ponytail. I felt his body press against my back and his breath in my ear. “I’m so proud of you!”

“That’s not it!” I got up on impulse, shoving Jean aside in the process. My face heat up as I noticed the four of them looking at me with varying degrees of bewilderment. “I just have some things to do that I need to be alone to do and…”

“But it’s a lot more fun to touch yourself when there are more people around!” Jean interrupted, smiling almost innocently.

“Stop it! Just… stop! I don’t want to hear it anymore.” I was going to run and hide somewhere until the end of the break, but the bell rang before I could do it, and instead I found myself walking to the English classroom with Hannah in tow.

(...)

Hannah did not want to sit with me during class, choosing a seat on the corner diagonally behind me. The seat next to me remained empty, but Brandon and Wendy were not far away. We exchanged glances throughout the lesson (I felt guilty again for not paying much attention to the teacher) and once it was over they smiled at me and left in a hurry. I followed them.

If I had looked back to the classroom, I would have seen Hannah’s eyes following me until I was lost in the sea of students in the corridor. Had I bothered to look at someone other than Wendy and Brandon during the lesson, I would have noticed that Hannah’s eyes kept glued in me for the whole time. And if I had made the effort to look past her scary demeanour, I would have realised Hannah was a lot more perceptive than she let on.

So, when I arrived at the rugby field anxious to finally talk to my friends and explain my actions in the past week and found them ready to skin me alive and ensure I never mistook them for my friends again, it was a good thing that Hannah had figured out what I was doing and went straight to Mr Smith’s office. They arrived just as Brandon had delivered the first punch to my stomach while two other guys held me by my arms to prevent me from running away.

“All of you to my office now!” he barked in a commanding tone completely different from the one he used when he caught Jean and I in the toilet. It held such authority to it even Brandon seemed surprised. “Hannah, take Oscar to the infirmary, I will get you once I deal with them”. Hannah nodded and we watched as he left with the group of teenagers who no longer held any good sentiment towards me. My eyes stung as they disappeared inside the main building, the pain in my stomach being just the most obvious sign of what it meant.

“Are you stupid or what?” I thought Hannah was going to hit me too. She certainly looked like she wanted to do so. “They ask you to come alone for a ‘talk’ after what they did yesterday and you believe they are not using euphemisms? Not even Henry is that daft!” She sent me one of her deathly glares, but soon afterwards her hand was stretched towards me and her expression softened somewhat. “Now come, let’s get the nurse to take a look at you, or Mr Smith will be worried.”

I hesitated at first. If I went to the nurse there was a possibility that she would spot bruises from today as well as those from last week, and she would ask questions I was not at all comfortable answering. In the end, though, I decided that as long as I only took off my shirt there was little chance of the nurse seeing something she should not see. I took Hannah’s hand and we made our way to the infirmary in silence.

(...)

Mr Smith came towards the end of our lunch break. Hannah had told the nurse we were to stay there until he came for us, and so even after it was decided that Brandon’s punch would leave nothing more serious than an ugly bruise, Hannah and I were not allowed to leave the place.

“Can’t we speak to Mr Smith later? I have Geography first thing tomorrow, so I can talk to him then…” I tried to ask after fifteen minutes of silence. It seemed Hannah was still angry with me, though whether it was because of my ‘stupidity’ or the fact that she was stuck with me and missing her lunch break I could only guess.

“No. He will be worried if he doesn’t see us here, he’s just that sort of person.” She did not seem inclined to participate in a conversation either.

“How do you know him so well? You don’t do Geography. Why did you go to him?” I asked, confused by the way she spoke of Mr Smith as if she was in touch with him in a regular basis.

“I know him because I know Jean. I went to him because I trust him.” From what I had seen of Hannah’s personality so far, her statement about Mr Smith stuck me as something she would not say lightly.

“Oh, Jean lives with Mr Smith, right?” I remembered the conversation we had at the teacher’s office. “He told me Mr Smith ‘legally abducted’ him or something like that.”

“From Jean’s point of view that’s definitely what happened.” There was a shadow of a smile in Hannah’s face. It was odd seen her with a non-threatening expression for a change, but it did not last. “Mr Smith has been Jean’s legal guardian for the past two years, but Jean didn’t like him at first. He tried to run away a few times, and we first met when I helped him hide.”

“Hide? Why?”

Hannah’s face darkened considerably. “Because Jean said Mr Smith was being bad to him, and because Jean was helping me with something else.”

I wanted to ask what that something else was, but I sensed it would not be a good idea. I decided to focus on Jean’s story instead. “I can’t imagine Mr Smith being bad to anyone.”

“From Jean’s point of view, Mr Smith was being downright cruel.” Hannah smirked. More than her normal scowl, this was a terrifying sight. “You see, Jean’s personality has not changed much since we met, nor has his horniness. According to him, Mr Smith’s determination to make Jean forget about sex was nothing short of torture.”

“Oh, I see…” I almost laughed. Her story fitted very well with the impression I had of Jean so far, and it explained a thing or two about his attitude at Mr Smith’s office. But then I realised something else and my body filled with dread. “Wait… how old was Jean then?” He had told me he was in third year, so he had to be younger than me. If he was younger than fifteen now, then two years ago he was…

“We think he was around twelve. No one knows for sure how old he is, though.” She just shrugged, like this was no big deal.

“Why?” I felt the colour drain from my face. Jean had been a sex maniac at the age of twelve. I was horrified at what this implied. Hannah, however, merely raised an eyebrow when she noticed my reaction.

“You shouldn’t be so surprised. According to him, Jean has been fucking his way in the world since he was around seven.” Once again she spoke as if there was nothing wrong with a child having sex. Part of me wanted to ask how she knew all this, how she could be so indifferent to the story she was telling me; but I knew I would probably not like the answers, so I kept my mouth shut and tried not to make up my own theories of why a twelve year-old who was addicted to sex had been put under Mr Smith’s care. I felt it was obvious enough.

We were silent for a while after that. I tried to think of happy things as a distraction, but all the events of the last week in general and this morning in particular prevented me from getting very far. Hannah was the one who broke the silence this time, though she did not look at me as she spoke.

“You’ll stop freaking out about Jean once you spend enough time with him. He has that effect on people.”

“So you were freaked out once?” I asked, turning towards her hoping she would turn to me too, but she kept looking at the window on her other side.

“Sort of. The first time we met I was too wasted to bother about his age, but when I sobered up a little and realised the guy who had just had sex with my dealer was even younger than me I thought I should at least pay him back for the favour. So I helped him hide from Mr Smith for a while, and he bought me drugs with his amazing sex skills.” She probably noticed I was looking at her as if she had an arm growing on her forehead, because she finally turned to me, her cold eyes daring me to say anything. “And yes, I was a junkie. Two years ago I would’ve had anything I could put my hands on.” Under Hannah’s murderous gaze, I used all of my self-control to keep my eyes from widening and my jaw from dropping to the ground. “When Mr Smith finally found Jean, and, by extension, me, he tried to help me like he was helping Jean.” She sighed, turning away again once she was sure I was not going to do anything she did not like. “He put me in a place where I could sober up and when they decided I was ready to leave I was put with a foster family who has been taking care of me since. They are Mr Smith’s friends and live in the area, so I was also sent to this school.”

I wanted to say something, but feared that whatever I said would be taken to mean something bad and she would retaliate somehow. I thought her story was impressive, and I felt oddly touched that she decided to share that with me two days after we met. My impulse was to share something personal about me too, but there was nothing in my life that could compare to her story; at least nothing she did not already know. As if reading my thoughts, she spoke again, back in her usual unfriendly scowl.

“And I only told you this because Jean said I should. He has weird ways of doing things, but somehow his plans always work.”

“And what would his plan be?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Oh, sorry, I forgot you are gullible and stupid. If I didn’t know Jean I would’ve thought it was something that came with being gay.” She rolled her eyes, but still seemed threatening enough that I did not feel like telling her I was straight. “Anyway, Jean wants you to be part of our group. He seems to think you are worth his attention and wants us to help you feel like you belong.”

“Thanks, I…” the feeling of being oddly touched returned, even if Hannah was speaking in a matter-of-fact monotone.

“And I was told to share deeply personal information so that you would feel safer to share your deeply personal information with us and thus build trust in our group and longer-lasting bonds than the ones you had with the mother fuckers who tried to beat you up this morning” she concluded, looking at me with both eyebrows raised. “Anything you wanna say to that?”

“Thank you, I guess. I will do my best to be worth of your trust.” Her eyebrows fell and met over her nose. She was not happy with my answer. It took me a while to understand what she wanted. “I’m sorry, my life has been very boring so far. There’s nothing deeply personal that I’m afraid of sharing with other people.” She looked sceptical, but did not press for a better answer. The unhealed gashes in my legs throbbed again.

Mr Smith came to check on me fifteen minutes before classes were due to restart. He apologised for his lateness, saying school rules stipulated that he take my former friends to the Headmistress. Their violent conduct meant their parents were called to the school and they were suspended for one week. If they were caught doing it again, they could be expelled.

(...)

Our Geography classroom was buzzing with excited whispers as Olivia, Henry and I walked into it on Wednesday morning. Soon our classmates were surrounding me and asking if I was happy with the Headmistress’s decision to suspend Brandon and his friends and if I had been hurt. For people who had been eager to laugh at me until the day before, they seemed oddly interested in my wellbeing.

During the day I noticed that the stares, ‘accidental’ bumps and muffled laughter following me around the school were not happening so much anymore. On Thursday there was almost nothing of the sort directed at me, and on Friday it was as if life had returned to what it was like before the toilet incident. The only difference was that I was now officially part of the school’s gay club, and apart from my new friends, no one seemed to care about it much.

“I think most of them drew the line at physical violence.” Henry said, referring to why people had stopped bothering me. “Most people think a bit of teasing is ok, but what Brandon did was a bit too much.”

“Yeah, this is a nice school in a nice area where people tend to have at least a bit of compassion.” Hannah agreed, rolling her eyes. I was reminded of what she told me on Monday, and wondered whether the school she used to go to was one of the really bad ones.

“Or maybe they just got bored.” Jean added, smiling from ear to ear. “Now that everyone knows Oscar is as gay as the rest of us, it’s pointless to tease him about it.” Under the table his hand wandered to my knee. After the first few days with the group I had realised I would be safe sitting across from him at the table, between Hannah and Olivia. He had protested at first, but after snogging Henry for the whole of the morning break he did not seem to mind my strategic location that much.

“Oscar is not gay.” Olivia sighed, looking at me as if to say ‘sorry’.

“He’s had gay sex with the gayest person in school, of course he’s gay!” Jean argued. Henry tried to say something, but Jean shut him by jumping into his lap and toying with shirt. Henry blushed furiously and forgot everything else for the sake of observing the blonde.

“He did not ask to fuck you.” Olivia replied.

“He did not say ‘no’ either.” Jean grinned. Olivia made a face and he took it as his personal victory, kissing Henry in the mouth to celebrate. The make-out session soon escalated, forcing Hannah to get up and hold Henry’s chair from behind, as it looked dangerously close to flipping backwards and sending the two in a painful trip to the ground.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Olivia asked, still slightly grumpy for having lost the argument.

“What?” I asked, not sure what she meant.

“Henry. He’s obviously got a crush on Jean.”

“What makes you say that?” I looked from the kissing couple to her and back again, trying to find signs of Henry’s crush. By now he was certainly as enthusiastic as Jean in their making-out. One of his hands was even pressing quite firmly against the blond’s ass.

“He does everything Jean tells him to with pleasure and puppy dog eyes. He seems to want to jump on Jean as much as Jean wants to jump on him, but his shyness prevents him from doing so. Also, he blushes a lot when Jean is around or when Jean’s is talking about him, or when Jean is about to jump on him. It’s obvious, really.”

“Well, Jean is certainly interested…” Jean and Henry almost fell through the side of the chair. It was a wonder no one had tried to stop them yet.

“Jean doesn’t do dates. He functions on a fuck-by-fuck basis, apparently.”

“Well, if Henry is happy that way…”

Jean and Henry were finally forced to separate when Hannah got tired of waiting behind their chair and pulled them apart with her own hands so that she could sit down again. Jean did not seem affected by her murderous glare.

“Oh, yes, before I forget!” the blond, having just sat in his own chair, got up again as if there had been a needle on his seat. He grabbed something from his backpack and went over to our side of the table. “Happy birthday, Hannah!” and he handed her a box wrapped in orange paper with her name written all over it. She examined the box for a few seconds and chucked it into her own bag.

“It’s your birthday today?” I asked, feeling bad once I realised I did not have anything to give her.

“Sunday. And before you say anything…” she stopped me as soon as I opened my mouth “I don’t want presents. You don’t need to bother. I’m not having a party either.”

“Why not? You are going to be sixteen, right? You’ll be an adult, you should celebrate!” I spoke against my best judgement. I had never heard of someone not wanting a birthday party before. Even now the party was one of the best things I associated with my birthday, I had never conceived of one without the other.

“I’m not going to celebrate the day I’ll have to live on my own, thank you very much.” She stood up and left the table before I could say anything else. Jean followed her, looking almost serious.

“What did I do?” I asked my remaining friends, feeling bad because I had obviously upset her, and feeling even worse because I had no idea how I had managed that.

“Children who turn sixteen are supposed to leave foster care.” Henry said, looking nervously from me to the canteen’s door. “Hannah will probably have to leave her foster family next week.”

“Oh, I… I didn’t know…” I felt like repeatedly banging my head against the table for my stupidity. Hannah had told me about her foster family, I should have realised this was going to be the case.

“Don’t worry, she’ll understand once she calms down. If not, Jean will make sure she at least stays away from your throat.” Olivia said, trying to cheer me up. She put her arm around my back and rested her head against my arm. I felt oddly comforted by her gesture.

“Thanks” I murmured, instinctively tipping my head to the side to rest it above hers.

“You should probably thank Jean, though you have to be clear you don’t want ‘thank you sex’ or he’ll take it as a sign that you want to fuck again.” she replied. Even if I could not see her face, I could certainly hear her smile.

“I’ll keep that in mind”.