Shades of Adrian Gray - 3. Chapter 3

I wake up the Tuesday after Adrian’s funeral to the musical stylings of my mom banging on my bedroom door and yelling at me to get up. I accompany said stylings with a refrain of sullen teenager in depths of depression and bury my head under my pillow. Silence reigns, crickets chirp, and then my bedroom door slams open and light floods into my lair. I am not pleased. But then, neither is she.

“Evan, get up,” she barks. “You’re going to be late for school.”

“Not going,” I mumble. “Don’t feel well.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll have to drive you to the hospital. If nothing’s wrong though, the bill’s coming out of your pocket and I’m billing you for the time I miss at work.”

I roll over and scrutinize her through bleary eyes. She stands framed in the doorway, short blond hair haloed around her head in the backlight from the hall, arms crossed her black business suit and geared for war. Crap. It’s easy to see sometimes why she’s so intimidating in court.

“Fine,” I glower. “Next time don’t just barge in. I could’ve been naked, you know.”

“Well you weren’t wearing a tux when you came out of my vagina, kiddo. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, trust me.” She sniffs and looks around my room. Clothes litter the floor and even the top of my desk. My closet door hangs open and a box of pictures and other random ass shit peeks through the crack where I’d thrown it the other day. I wince and squeeze my eyes shut, praying she doesn’t make a big deal about it. My pictures of Adrian and me are in that box. Luckily, she’s headed up a different path entirely. “And you being naked would have required you to actually get out of bed at least once this weekend. Not to mention yesterday. Did you really think your school wouldn’t call and mention that you decided to skip?”

“I didn’t feel like going.”

“And just how long do you think that particular excuse is going to work, Evan? If you can’t be bothered to go to high school, I suppose you’ll probably just not feel like going to college. But that’s okay, because I imagine you probably just don’t feel like getting a job anyways. And as long as you don’t feel like paying bills, well, you won’t really need one -”

“Mom! I get it, okay? Jesus.”

I roll on my side and face away from her, staring at the blank wall in hopes that she’ll take a hint and leave. But stubbornness is apparently genetic, and guess where I got mine? She sighs, and I feel my bed dip and settle from her weight as she sits behind me. Her hand reaches over and smoothes my hair down the back of my neck and I close my eyes.

“Evan, what’s going on? You’ve been doing so well this past year, actually going to all your classes, your grades were up, and then all of a sudden its like…you just don’t care anymore. We’re worried, honey.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Give your parents some credit, kiddo. We know when something’s wrong with our son, but we’re not mind readers. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s going on.”

“You can’t help me period,” I say hoarsely, and her hand stills on my head.

“Is this about your girlfriend? Did you break up?” I clench my hands into fists so tight my nails start to dig into my palms. I’ve always just let my parents assume I date girls here and there and that I’m just too embarrassed to introduce them. As long as I behaved myself, they pretty much let it slide and didn’t insist on meeting any of them, and as much time as Adrian and I spent together the past year, it was inevitable that they assumed I’d met a ’special someone.’ I’d even heard them talk once or twice about how much I’d changed and how ’she’ must be good for me, and Adrian and I had gotten a few laughs out of that, but now - now it just made me want to hit something.

“Mom, no! Just leave me alone! I need to get ready for school, remember?”

She stands up, and the bed lifts. “Fine,” she says at last, and I can tell from her tone she’s hurt by my dismissal, but I just don’t care. “But this isn’t over. You’re going to have to talk to us at some point.”

“Whatever,” I mumble and wait for her to close the door behind her. Once she’s gone, I weigh the pro’s and con’s of ignoring her and just going back to sleep, but its not worth the fight. I get up and go through the motions of showering and getting dressed on autopilot, and have no idea what time it actually is when I finally stumble downstairs. My dad’s still sitting at the kitchen table with the paper and his coffee, so it can’t be that late yet. I grab a bagel and a banana from the big Art Deco bowl that dominates the central island of the kitchen. Crisis averted, I figure.

“You and I are going to have a long talk when you get home from school today.”

Or not. I get one of the to-go cups my mom buys in bulk at CostCo and make my coffee black, jerking a nod in acknowledgement at my dad, who’s put the paper down and is staring at me from over the lip of his mug.

“I get that you’ve got something going on right now, but that doesn’t negate the fact that we are your parents and we have done nothing to deserve your disrespect.”

I barely contain my eye roll just in time, but the fact of the matter is, he’s right. My parents might not be perfect, but they’re a hell of a lot better than most. Somehow, this just pisses me off more. As I stand there filling up my cup with him just watching me calmly, so convinced of his parental wisdom and authority, I almost, for a split second, think of just blurting it out. Telling him everything, letting him and mom know just exactly what’s wrong with me, just to shake that smug, obnoxious confidence. They think they know everything, they think whatever it is ’I’ve got going on right now’, its some typical teenage juvenile shit like breaking up with a girlfriend and it can’t possibly be that bad, nothing to justify this kind of attitude, right? Well fuck them. They don’t know shit, and they definitely don’t know the first thing about me. It’s never even crossed their minds that their son could be gay, and I bet if I told them both right now they’d be so hung up on that it wouldn’t even occur to them that that’s not even the issue. I don’t give a shit about being gay anymore. Adrian got me past that. But Adrian’s gone and he’s never coming back and he’s never going to get me past anything ever again.

“Whatever,” I mutter at last, exhausted. I slam the coffee pot down, grab my cup and my backpack off the counter and off to school I go. My parents stand confused and oblivious in the kitchen behind me, and I get a savage pleasure that fades far too quickly for my liking.

I manage to make it from the parking lot to my locker without anyone stopping me to talk or ask where I was yesterday. I thank the scowl on my face and black cloud of doom hovering over my head for that. Unfortunately, its not to last, and I curse myself for not investing in more friends who know when to leave me the hell alone as I slam my locker shut just in time to see Neil and his on again off again girlfriend Vanessa coming down the hall. I duck my head, pretend not to see them, and head for my history class and the blissful oblivion of Mr. Gibson’s mind numbing lectures.

“Evan! Wait up!” Footsteps pound against the black and white spackled floors as they jog to catch up to me. Scratch that. I should have invested in more fat and out of shape friends. Neil slaps me in the arm when he comes up along side me, only a little out of breath. Blonde bombshell Vanessa just looks at me inquisitively, not a perfect hair out of place. She’s so not even human.

“Dude, where have you been? You were AWOL all weekend and then you didn’t show up to school yesterday - what’s going on, man?”

“Busy,” I answer curtly, starting up the stairs towards the history department.

“Busy? You were so busy you couldn’t answer any of my phone calls or texts or even fucking go online? Busy with what? What’s that even mean?”

“Busy. It’s an adjective. Look it up on your toilet paper.”

“Dude, you’re starting to freak me out. What’s with?”

“You can’t end a question with a preposition,” I rattle off tonelessly. We reach the first landing and Neil grabs my shoulder and spins me around. The cheap fluorescent lights wash away what little color he has and he looks pale and exhausted against the drab gray walls of the staircase. Annoyance wars with obvious concern on his face, and I feel like shit so focus on the annoyance instead, daring him to say something to piss me off and get my rage stoked and burning again. I like my rage. It’s a lot better than feeling like shit.

“Okay, Robo-Evan, do you think I could talk to my friend for just a minute? Maybe he can explain what’s going on. I’m having a little trouble, as I don’t speak asshole.”

My lips tug up in a wide, fake smile and I cock my head. “Relax Neil. It’s just puberty. I’m going through some changes is all.”

I turn and stalk up the next flight of stairs, glancing back ever so briefly when I reach the hall above. He’s still standing there bewildered when the wall cuts him off from sight. The savage pleasure I took from my parents’ confusion doesn’t come this time. Dammit.

“So…jackass, much? Who pissed in your Wheaties today, muscle man?”

I sigh and glare at Vanessa, who‘s apparently never left my side. She just arches an eyebrow at my glare and shifts the backpack over her shoulder so she can rummage inside it while we walk. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“And I don’t need the attitude, ‘k thanks,” she ripostes, pulling a makeup compact out and flipping open the mirror. “We have the same class this period, remember dumbass? Or did you even notice? God, you’re such a narcissist sometimes.”

“Thanks for the constructive criticism. I’ll try to work on that.”

“Oh don’t bother,” she rolls her eyes and checks her lips in the mirror. Somehow, she’s managing to dress me down without paying the least bit of attention to me. I could learn a thing or two from her. “You’re a narcissist, but you’re a lovable one. Besides, I only keep you around as eye candy anyways. The less you talk, the happier I am.”

“Is that why you’re actually trying to get me to talk?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what that’s all about either,” she assures me. “A momentary lapse of sanity. I’m off my cycle or something. Or maybe Neil’s like, contagious. Other girls get crabs from their boyfriends. Me, I get feelings. That bastard.”

I catch myself just before I smirk, and rue the day Neil ever met her. I liked her a lot better when she was just the class bitch who couldn‘t be bothered to even notice me, and not someone who knew me well enough to pull me out of my moods. I like my mood. I want my mood. Leave my mood the fuck alone. “I’m fine, Vanessa.”

“Bullshit,” she counters cheerfully.

“Look, just knock it off alright? If I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. But don’t get pissed at us for being concerned when our friend drops off the face of the earth and is replaced by his evil twin. I mean, if Bad Evan has plans to like, take over the world or something, as best friends, its kind of our moral duty to meddle.”

The compact goes away, and the lipstick comes out. Her combo of interference and indifference is thankfully starting to piss me off again. When the fuck did we become friends, anyways? Just because she‘s doing my best friend doesn‘t mean shit. My friendship is not earned by proxy. “Just leave me alone, or I’ll tell Neil you were flirting with me.”

“Please do. We haven’t fought in over two weeks and I’m really starting to miss the make up sex.”

We round the corner and she says exactly the wrong thing at exactly the right time. A table’s set up against the far wall, with a picture of Adrian, a few candles and some flowers scattered across the surface. Two girls and a guy are standing in front of it, conversing in whispers. I’ve never seen them before in my life, and I doubt Adrian had either. Adrian, who I was never going to fight with again. Who, the last time I saw him, I fought, thinking that sure enough, two weeks later we’d have makeup sex of our own and everything would be alright. The naiveté of youth, huh?

“Fuck off and die, Vanessa,” I say and storm the last twenty feet to class.

“Wow. Rude much?”

I take a seat near the back corner. She comes in, purses her lips and takes a seat right behind me. Bitch. The bell rings, the lights go off and the projector goes on. My head hits my desk and I start to drift when my cell phone buzzes with a text alert in my pocket. I glower and ignore it. Vanessa initiates a steady rhythm of smacking the back of my head every ten seconds until I finally pull it out and flip it open.

Seriously. What the hell is with you?

I slouch and text back.

Seriously. I’m fine. Drop it.

A minute later, it buzzes again. Despite myself, I’m so absorbed in getting her to fuck off via text, that I never notice when the projector shuts off and the lights flick back on. My first clue is when I look up to see Mr. Gibson standing in front of me. Well, my nose clued in first. Dude reeks of mothballs and stale peppermints. Take a shower sometime this century, you know?

“Mr. Foster, since the conversation you’re having on your phone is clearly so much more interesting than our discussion on the Thirty Years’ War, perhaps you’d care to share it with the rest of the class?”

“Certainly, sir,“ I spit out. My eyes narrow at the pompous asshole. I’ve always hated his guts. He’s one of those teachers who clearly made a career change halfway through life because they’d failed at everyone else, and he never missed an opportunity to let his students know how he really felt about them. Condescension being his weapon of choice. At the moment, I see no reason not to let him know likewise, kamikaze style. In fact, the idea has a certain appeal to it. “At 8:32, I received a text saying ‘Seriously. What the hell is with you?’ To which I replied ‘Seriously. I’m fine. Drop it. At 8:33, I received another text saying ‘Drop the attitude, and I’ll drop the questions. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole to your friends.’ To which I replied, ‘Please stop texting me. I’m trying to listen to Mr. Gibson’s lecture. It’s riveting.’”

Snickers erupt around me halfway through my recitation, and by the time I look up, his face is purple with apoplexy. I smile.

“Principal’s office. Now!”

“What should I tell him is the reason for my visit, sir?” I reek of politeness.

“Oh I have no doubt you’ll think of something clever to tell him. He should be able to figure out my problem from there,” he seems to have trouble getting the words out. Spittle flies at the last ‘th’ sound and I am the metaphorical cat who ate the canary. I gather up my books and make for the door.

“Okay, but if he can’t, maybe my dad can help figure out your problem. He’s a diagnostician you know. My guess is he’ll probably say you need that stick up your ass taken out.”

“Get. Out,” he roars. The class does too, albeit in a different fashion. Good luck getting control over that mess, Mr. Asshole.

“Leaving,” I tell him sweetly, and catch Vanessa’s eye before the door closes behind me. She finally looks apologetic, but I figure I can milk it to make her back off rather than let her know she just made my day.

Having no intention of going to the principal’s office, I wander through the abandoned hallways aimlessly. Seeing that I’m already in trouble anyways, I’m weighing the merits of just ditching the rest of the day entirely and heading off campus when I stumble across another tabletop memorial to Adrian set up in front of the cafeteria. Like the other, this one has a blown up year book picture, candles and flowers and a poster board riddled with messages like ‘We love you,’ and ‘We miss you.’ One lone, sole missive simply and honestly says ‘Sorry I didn’t know you better.’

I punch the locker nearest me so hard I skin my knuckles. Blood dribbles free and I wipe it angrily on my shirt. It’s only at the contrast that I finally realize its Tuesday, and I’m wearing yellow.