11 Am To 12 Pm

John the Principal:
"Sir, there's an urgent situation."
"What kind of urgent situation?"
"The steel mill exploded."
"That's bad."
"Yes, it is."
"We need an emergency assembly."
"Yes, we do."
"Call it."
"Call it yourself."
"All students. Emergency assembly, fifteen minutes."
At the emergency assembly, I addressed the students with information my secretary had fed me, from the police.
"Okay, folks. First day, not going to be a great one. The steel mill blew up, for some reason I'm not really sure of, and the air outside is toxic because of chemicals and blah blah blah, do I look like the science teacher? So, everyone, we're all stuck here. Close all windows, remain inside, stay here for lunch, and try not to go crazy. We'll probably be staying here after school, so go ahead. Anyway. It's your first day, I'm your principal, yeah, I used to be a woman, yeah, I'm bi, I fucking swear sometimes, go complain, but I've gotten complaints and I'm still here, so…welcome and welcome back to William Mason High, and please don't leave until the police tell you it's safe."
Boning the students was something that never quite came up in these addresses. I looked around to make sure all the windows were closed. I paced around claustrophobically. That's not a word. Claustrophobically. Yet it's so fun to say!
I looked into every class, where everyone was returning. They were traumatized. When I returned to my room, all of them had come to confront me. All but Julio. I told them I'd talk later as I walked through the apparitions. The window in my office was open. Without any indication to the outside world, I climbed through into the outside air.
As my consciousness - as I - grew dim, one phrase ran through my head - "but where were they going without ever knowing the way…?"

Carson McFly

In painting class, I just "let go," so to speak. My brother told me once that all you had to do to be a great writer, painter, musician, sculptor, sandwich-maker, any profession like that, you simply had to pour all your heart and soul into whatever you're doing. I pranced back and forth, brush in one hand, swiping over the canvas like an ankylosaurus would swipe his mighty armored, spikey tail against the leg of a predatory theropod. The artistic moment took over and I was caught in swells and waves of creative energy. Soon, the paint brush became an extension of my very being, an instrument of my existence. If Jim Henson had used Kermit like I used this brush, he would've defied the very laws of nature, the very will of the Almighty, by giving life to that otherwise lifeless piece of green cloth. He would've harnessed the spark of creation into that souless puppet, just as I gave life and emotion to the paint. After minutes and minutes of intense, concentrated painting, slathered with the flavor of my spiritual life force like Fred Flinstone's oversized brontosaurus rib was slathered with mysterious reddish-brown sauce, I was done. I stepped back and gazed upon my creation, tears nearly welling up in my eyes.
"Very nice, Carson. Your slab of masonite is completely white. You did that very quickly," my teacher said, "but you could've used a roller to get a nice uniform white. The rollers are over there, beside the sink."
I giggled to myself. Here I was, painting with passionate gestures, when my true intention had been to paint the board white all along! How very, "ironic" of me. I wondered it any of my surrounding fellows had realized how hilarious and "ironic" I had been. Probably not. I was far too clever for them.
My wondrous jest put me into a fine mood indeed! and I was begginning to believe that high school would not be such a chore after all! But lo! were my hopes swiftly dashed against the rocks, just as a descending pterosaur might be caught by the gale and dashed against a cliff, his light, brittle bones becoming fractured again and again as he is thrashed by the wind and finally plummets into the ocean to be devoured by Nessie's noble plesiosaur ancestors.

"Emergency assembly, fifteen minutes," a woman said from the loudspeaker perched in the corner of the room.

My mind snapped back to reality and I became self-conscious again of how silly I was being. All day, my thoughts had been flying off into foreign lands, taking on foreign voices. I thought painting would help me calm down, or "find my center" or something. But everyone around me was still a blur of voices, and this building was still some boundless maze. And now this assembly. What the hell was this? I slipped in between my towering classmates and dashed towards the auditorium. I wanted to curl up in a nice corner before the place became crowded. My skinny frame finally proved useful as I slinked among and underneath my peers' gigantic bodies, ran into the auditorium, and headed towards the back, against a wall. The students swarmed in like some kind of dinosaur doing something, and I did what I could to prevent myself from fainting right there. At long last, after an indefinite amount of mumbling, shuffling, and tomfoolery amongst the high school youngsters, the principal made her announcement. I stood on my toes and cupped my hands behind my ears to hear what she was saying, but I don't think I heard her right, because she managed to sound nonchalant and casual while announcing an explosion at the same time:

"Okay, folks. First day, not going to be a great one. The steel mill blew up, for some reason I'm not really sure of, and the air outside is toxic because of chemicals and blah blah blah, do I look like the science teacher? So, everyone, we're all stuck here. Close all windows, remain inside, stay here for lunch, and try not to go crazy. We'll probably be staying here after school, so go ahead. Anyway. It's your first day, I'm your principal, yeah, I used to be a woman, yeah, I'm bi, I fucking swear sometimes, go complain, but I've gotten complaints and I'm still here, so…welcome to William Mason High, and please don't leave until the police tell you it's safe."

That was it. That was when I knew that I had gone completely mad. My overwhelming anxiety, my fantastic paranoia, combined with my overactive imagination, had finally gotten the best of me and this entire episode was a psychotic hallucination. The steel mill hadn't exploded, and I could leave the school of I wanted. My fears had simply manifested themselves in the most fanciful way possible. But I wouldn't give in that easily. No, I had to do my best to fight the hallucinations surrounding this whole unbearable school and, by the end of the day, I would make it home unscathed. A triumphant grin found its way onto my face and I let out a laugh, blissful in my newly found resolution to make it home. My tiny voice was lost in the rumble of the crowd, and my tiny body was lost amongst them like wind among marble columns.

Sara Johnson

I buy food and sit at an empty table. Jay and Lena and I worked out the free first period, but couldn’t manage lunch together. Michael’s girlfriend Lindsay sits across from me. Lindsay’s hot. I’m not sure why she likes Michael so much. He’s totally average looking. Like me. She chats casually at me, but I really don’t feel like talking to anyone, let alone Lindsay. If people see me talking to her on the first day of school, they might think we’re friends. And we’re not. I finally ask her if there’s something she wants to talk about. She says no, but she keeps sitting there staring at me.
“Does this have to do with my brother?” I finally ask.
“No. Well, That’s not why I sat here.”
“But yeah?”
“Kind of. I don’t think we’re right for each other. I really like him. I don’t want to upset him.”
“Then why break up with him?”
“Well… I like someone else.”
“But you don’t know that you’re going to like this other guy better. You should try just talking to my brother about it. Maybe he’ll be okay with it if you two take a break for a while so you can figure things out.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not just—”
“Yeah?”
“I think that I don’t… What classes are you taking?”
“What?!”
“Fuck. I think I don’t like boys.”
“Oh… Really? None of them?”
“I mean, they can be nice.”
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right one. Has my brother done anything mean to you?”
“God no. He’s nice. He wouldn’t. And maybe. I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not right. Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s all boys exactly or what. Girls are—I don’t know. Shit. I didn’t want to tell you this. Please don’t say anything to Michael.”
“Are you going to? Someone has to.”
“No, you can’t. I will, I just. Fuck. Please.”
“I won’t say anything. But make sure he knows this isn’t his fault. The last thing we need is Michael running around crying that he turned you into a dyke.”
“Do you think he would cry?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him cry in years, but that’s probably just because he does it alone in his room.”
“There was this one time he cried during this movie, and he played it off like he was joking, but I really couldn’t quite tell if it was a joke or for real.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. He used to cry all the time when he was younger.”
“What was he like as a little kid?”
Michael walks by the cafeteria and waves, and I wave back.
“Aside from being a crybaby and tattletale, he was usually a good little brother. We used to gang up against mom and dad and try to scare them.”
“So how’s senior year?”
“I…don’t know. I’m not really with it right now. I’m planning to do as little as possible. I just want to be out of high school. I’m not going to college.”
“Your parents are okay with that?”
“They’ll get over it.”
“What are you going to do then?”
“Get married, pop out a couple of kids, let someone else do the work, make the money.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. Sounds like a good life to me.”
“Really?”
“My mom did it and she’s perfectly happy.”
“But, like, what if he leaves you to take care of the kids without his support?”
“I have a high school diploma, so I can still get a decent job.”
After a few seconds of silence, I pick up my lunch again. Suddenly, the intercom makes noise, and everyone goes quiet.
“All students. Emergency assembly, fifteen minutes..”
“Huh. What do you think that’s about?” I ask Lindsay.
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll see. See ya.”
“Yeah.”
Lindsay gets up and leaves, and I’m left sitting there, a little dazed. I finish lunch alone. The drug is wearing off and I feel sleepy and a little depressed. I want to see Jay and Lena. I really want to talk to them. This crush wasn’t so bad before, but I barely saw them all summer. And then this morning… was fun. They’re still glowing in my head. I meet them outside the auditorium, and we walk inside together, chatting about nothing. Now that we’re not stoned, I feel like I’m acting strange around them. At some point, they’re going to notice and I’m going to have to say something.
Luckily, there’s very little time for me to act strangely. As we sit down, I’m struck by the strange silence in the auditorium. A handful of people look very upset. Everyone else is looking around, confused. Apparently, we agree, this is not just a “welcome back” assembly.
The principal walks on stage. I’ve gotten in trouble a couple of times, smoking cigs at the back gate. He’s always been really cool about everything. Or maybe he just doesn’t care that much. But he never got me in trouble the way he was supposed to. He’s also really strange though. The kind of guy who sits behind his desk cracking his knuckles and squeezing a ball while he talks to you. Harmless, I’m sure. But he probably didn’t have friends in high school, never got married. Maybe a gay guy who lives with his mom and won’t come out of the closet. He steps on stage looking desperate and slightly amused.
“Okay, folks. First day, not going to be a great one. The steel mill blew up, for some reason I'm not really sure of, and the air outside is toxic because of chemicals and blah blah blah, do I look like the science teacher? So, everyone, we're all stuck here. Close all windows, remain inside, stay here for lunch, and try not to go crazy. We'll probably be staying here after school, so go ahead. Anyway. It's your first day, I'm your principal, yeah, I used to be a woman, yeah, I'm bi, I fucking swear sometimes, go complain, but I've gotten complaints and I'm still here, so…welcome and welcome back to William Mason High, and please don't leave until the police tell you it's safe."
He walks off the stage, but everyone keeps staring.
“What?!?” Jay finally says.
Chaos is setting into the auditorium as everyone realizes that their dads work in the factory. At first, I feel like I shouldn’t listen to the principal. After all, he’s clearly insane. But some of the teachers are in tears. In my head, I deny. Then I panic. I tell Jay and Lena that I love them, and they say that they love me too.
“No. I mean… like… really.” Then I burst out crying and curl up in my seat. Some kids seem to be wandering back to class in a daze. I don’t think I can handle that. Jay and Lena comfort me a little, but they’re looking at each other now. What I said upset them, and they want to talk about it when I’m not there. This upsets me even more. I try to stop crying. I get up. Tell them I’ll meet them later. I walk off to a quiet hallway to be in peace. I glance in the door of the principal’s office as I pass it, and, through tears, see him climb calmly out of his window. I start to wonder if the pot I smoked this morning could have been cut with something else. I burst out laughing, and when I’m done, I feel much better. I couldn’t have possibly seen that. My dad is fine. The town is fine. I walk off looking for my friends.

Michael Johnson:

It took me a few minutes to actually get up and go to class, but eventually I stumbled towards Painting. I could not shake the dream from my thoughts. I've never been one to try and analyze dreams, but it felt like there was something there beneath it. I went into the bathroom and saw a kid smoking a cigarette outside the window. He had the scared, frantic look of a freshman, and when the door slammed open he practically fell out the window.
“Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me.”
I snorted. “Try going behind the gym next time. That usually works.”
He smiled and nodded appreciatively.
“That being said, get the fuck out of here before you get us both in trouble.” His smiled disappeared immediately, and he dropped the smoke out the window and practically ran out of the bathroom.
I filled up the sink and dunked my face in it. It was cold and stabbing, and I felt more awake afterwards, if not less stuck in my dream. I grabbed a few paper towels and rubbed my face. I was about fifteen minutes late at this point, and so I didn't see a reason not to take a little more time. I walked by the cafeteria and saw Sara sitting at a table. I waved to her as I walked to the classroom.
When I got there, there was a freshman who looked like he was twelve years old painting a piece of wood white. He looked like he was in a trance as he was doing it, possessed by some sort of muse.
“Good for him.” I said to myself, and apologized to the teacher. She told me to grab whatever I felt comfortable with and start painting. I grabbed a canvas, a palate, and a brush, and walked over to an easel. Most people trace out their paintings first, but I never did. I took some blue paint and starting drawing a sea on the bottom. I used long, lazy brush strokes, not really intending to make this a masterpiece. After finishing, and using other deeper blues and greens to add texture, I stepped back and looked at the painting. I saw that I had left a hole in the middle of everything, a simple white spot in the middle of a sea. I also noticed the swirling motion that the brush strokes had taken, creating a whirlpool around the white spot. I smiled a joyless smile, and painted the white spot black.
I turned around to ask the teacher where to find a paint marker to hear her talking to the twitchy freshman. “"Very nice, Carson. Your slab of masonite is completely white. You did that very quickly, but you could've used a roller to get a nice uniform white. The rollers are over there, beside the sink." I chuckled at the teacher's praise for the kid for painting something white, and badly at that. I walked over to her.
“Hey, where are the paint markers?”
“Over in that cabinet.”
I grabbed on and started to replicate the drawing I had done during first period. It came quickly, passionately, intensely, until my concentration was broken by the loudspeaker in the corner of the room.
“Emergency assembly, fifteen minutes.”
The voice was loud and grating, and it took me a few minutes to clear the screech from my mind. I got back to painting, letting the pen lead my hand over the canvas. I lost consciousness, it felt like, as I kept painting and painting. All of a sudden a voice behind me and a hand on my shoulder caught my attention.
“Michael. Michael! It's time for the assembly.”
I didn't kzznow if I had been painting for ten minutes or ten hours since the announcement, but I blinked my eyes a few times and walked out with the rest of the class towards the assembly. There weren't too many people there, and I spotted Lindsay easily. I walked over and sat down next to her, putting my arm around her.
“Hey!”
“Hey.”
“How was French?”
“It was okay. How were your classes?”
“Okay.” I smiled. “I fell asleep in the cafeteria third period, and spilt some boiling hot coffee in my lap.”
Lindsay gave me a pained look. “Shit. Sorry, you okay?
“Yeah. It hurt a little bit at the time, though.”
“Michael…” Lindsay looked down at the ground, and then directly at me.
“Yeah?”
“Michael, I—I…”
“Lindsay, You—you…” I laughed at my shitty joke.
“Stop it.,” Lindsay said severely.
Her seriousness confused me. “Okay.”
“I don't know how to say this.”
“What?” I suddenly remembered the dream from before, and I lost all interest in whatever she was saying. “Oh, let me tell you about this dream I had when I was asleep before,” I said, just as she said “Michael, I don't think this is working for me.” The words hit me like bricks.
“What?”
“That's not how I wanted to say that. Shit. Michael, I can't be in a relationship right now.”
“What do you mean, isn't working?” I couldn't get what she was saying. “What are you talking about?”
“I just—”
“Just what?” I wouldn't let her finish her sentences. The emotions were too quick, they refused to be ignored.
“I can't do this.”
“What the fuck? Where does this come from?” I was shaking.
“Shit. I don't know. I just—what does that mean?”
“What does what mean? What the fuck, Lindsay?”
“It means I think I might like girls.” And there it was.
“So you're a fucking Lesbian now?” I raised my voice in my anger, and a few people nearby looked over at us. We didn't hold their interest, though. Lindsay stared at me angrily.
“I didn't mean it like that, Lindsay.”
“Fuck you, man, this is hard.”
“No, I'm sorry. Just—I don't know. Shit.” I shook my head.
I got indignant. “It's a little bit hard for me, too, you know.”
“Michael, I'm sorry. I know.”
“God, I just…” I felt myself shaking, tears welling in my eyes.
“Yeah.” I couldn't deal with it anymore. I felt the hot tears roll down my cheek, silent sobs in my throat. I couldn't bear to attract anyone else's attention.
“Michael—”
“What?” I bawled out.
“I just want you to know it's not you, at all, or anything.”
“Right, I'm going to believe that.”
“Really. You're great.”
“Not great enough, apparently.”
“God, Michael, sometimes things just don't work.”
All of a sudden, I grabbed control of myself again.“So what? Would they work if I didn't have a dick?”
Lindsay didn't say anything for a while. “I don't know.”
“Of course you don't,” I snorted.
“What's that mean?” Now she was indignant.
“It means that this seems like the kind of half-baked idea that you always have. Oh, let's drive to New York City! Let's dye our hair! I know! I'll be a lesbian! Have any of those worked out, Lindsay?” And now I was angry one.
“How's dying our hair half-baked?”
“That's not the point, and you know it.”
“It's not a fucking decision like that.” I knew it wasn't but I couldn't stop talking. “Fuck.”
“Well then what is it? How long have you not liked me because I'm a guy? As far as I can tell, it's just today, damn it.”
“I don't not like you. I mean— It's not like a yes or no thing. Shit's not that simple, Michael.”
“Has our whole relationship just been a joke for you?”
“No. I love you.” What? She loved me? I was stopped in my tracks, my anger dissipating.
“You what?”
“Shit.”
“I love you too, Lindsay.” And I did.
“Aw… fuck. This. Ah. I mean, thanks. I just— I don't understand anything.”
“Did you mean it?” All of a sudden, this was much more urgent than the fact that my girlfriend was breaking up with me because she decided she was a lesbian. “When you said you loved me, I mean.”
“I meanyeah. But you know I mean… Not like that exactly, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Yeah.”
And then the anger came back. “Well, not okay. Like how, then?”
“I don't know.”
“Like a friend? Like a brother? I don't know too many sisters who make out with their brothers during movies, Lindsay.” I couldn't stop myself.
“Like a brother you didn't know was your brother until after you made out with them? No.”
“It's our one year anniversary in a week, you know. I never had any doubt we'd make it there.”
“Sorry? I can take it back for a week, if it'd make you feel better.” She smiled.
“Yeah, that'll do it.” I laughed, though nothing was funny.
“Sorry.”
“Me too.”
“No. You don't—”
“What?”
“There's nothing for you to be sorry about. I mean… fuck,” She was lost for words, we both were. “I don't know how you meant that. Just, sorry.”
“Fine. Thank you for the apology.” And then the assembly started.
“Okay, folks. First day, not going to be a great one. The steel mill blew up, for some reason I'm not really sure of, and the air outside is toxic because of chemicals and blah blah blah, do I look like the science teacher? So, everyone, we're all stuck here. Close all windows, remain inside, stay here for lunch, and try not to go crazy. We'll probably be staying here after school, so go ahead. Anyway. It's your first day, I'm your principal, yeah, I used to be a woman, yeah, I'm bi, I fucking swear sometimes, go complain, but I've gotten complaints and I'm still here, so…welcome to William Mason High, and please don't leave until the police tell you it's safe.” The words distracted me from everything Lindsay had said. The principal strolled off the stage amidst yells from kids in the audience, but nothing was answered in the seconds of chaos that followed. I instinctively glanced at the auditorium's emergency exit, and saw Mr. Clarson, the physical education teacher, standing in front of it imposingly.
I almost burst into tears again, but I didn't. I got up and practically ran out of the room. I heard Lindsay shout my name, but kept going, not stopping until I got to the bathroom. Lindsay, now this… It was too much to deal with. I was throwing up into the toilet bowl when the bell rang High Noon.

Lindsay

Lunch. I don’t want to see Michael. Maybe this isn’t even his lunch period. God, I hope it isn’t. I don’t want to eat. Just find somewhere to sit. Michael? No Michael. No anyone? Fuck, all my friends must be in next lunch. But his sister. Awkward? Eh—okay. I sit down across from her. “Hey.” She nods. “How’s it going?” I say. She nods. “Okay.” I stare at her.

“Is there something you want to talk about?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “What? Why?”

“’Cause we don’t usually talk.” I don’t know what to say. She’s right. “Is there something you want to talk about?” she asks.

“No.”

“Does this have something to do with my brother?” No, I sat down here because none of my friends were around. And—fuck. She doesn’t even really know me, and she knows me better than I know myself. I should have just sat alone.

“No.” I say, “Well. That’s not why I sat here.” Fuck. I’m saying too much.

“But yeah?” She says.

“Kind of,” I say, “I don’t think we’re right for each other. I really like him. I don’t want to upset him.”

“Then why break up with him?” What’s that expression on her face. Fuck. This is the wrong person to be talking too.

“Well,” I say. Fuck, I need an excuse. “I like someone else.” That’s horrible.

“But you don’t know that you’re going to like this other guy better. You should try just talking to my brother about it. Maybe he’ll be okay with it if you two take a break for a while so you can figure things out.” Maybe. No. Fuck.

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not just—” It’s not just that at all. No.

“Yeah?” she asks. No.

“I think that I don’t—” I can’t talk with her about this. “What classes are you taking?”

“What?!” she shouts.

“Fuck. I think I don’t like boys.”

“Oh… Really? None of them?” I don’t know what that expression means at all. And that’s not how I meant to put it.

“I mean, they can be nice.” Stupid thing to say. Stupid.

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right one. Has my brother done anything
mean to you?” No. Oh God, she just.

“God no. He’s nice. He wouldn’t. And maybe. I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not right. Maybe. Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s all boys exactly or what. Girls are—I don’t know. Shit. I didn’t want to tell you this. Please don’t say anything to Michael.”

“Are you going to? Someone has to.” No, no, no.

“No, you can’t. I will, I just. Fuck. Please.”

“I won’t say anything,” she reassures me, “but make sure he knows this isn’t his fault. The last thing we need is Michael running around crying that he turned you into a dyke.”

Is she serious? “Do you think he would cry?” I hope he wouldn’t cry.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him cry in years, but that’s probably just because he does it alone in his room.” Michael?

But that one time— “There was this one time he cried during this movie, and he played it off like he was joking, but I really couldn’t quite tell if it was a joke or for real.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” she says. God, this must be horrible awkward for her. I shouldn’t have sat here. “He used to cry all the time when he was younger.”

I don’t want to talk about Michael. “What was he like as a little kid?”

“Aside from being a crybaby and tattletale, he was usually a good little brother. We used to gang up against mom and dad and try to scare them.” Why are we talking about Michael?

“So how’s senior year?” I ask

“I…don’t know. I’m not really with it right now. I’m planning to do as little as possible. I just want to be out of high school. I’m not going to college.”

Michael’s parents never seemed like that’s let their kid do that, but— “Your parents are okay with that?”

“They’ll get over it,” she says.

“What are you going to do then?” I ask.

“Get married, pop out a couple of kids, let someone else do the work, make
the money.” I can’t tell if she’s serious.

“You’re kidding, right?” Either it’s a joke, or I’m being offensive. She’s too hard to read.

“Nope,” she says, “Sounds like a good life to me.”

I can’t hide my surprise. “Really?”

“My mom did it and she’s perfectly happy.” She seems angry. I’m sorry. But how could she be seious.

“But, like, what if he leaves you to take care of the kids without his support?” I ask

“I have a high school diploma, so I can still get a decent job.”

Then we don’t say anything. She picks up her lunch. The intercom comes on “There will be an emergency meeting in the auditorium in fifteen minutes. Attendance is mandatory. It is asked that no one leave the building, regardless of senior privileges”

I look at Sara. “Huh,” she says “What do you think that’s about?”

“I don’t know,” I say, standing up, “I guess we’ll see. See ya’. Thanks.” I leave. Fifteen minutes is extra time to get over there, but, this conversation’s awkward.

I head over and find a seat. I stare into space for a while while people come in. Michael sits down next to me. “Hey,” he says, putting an arm around me.

“Hey,” I say.

“How was French,” he asks.

“It was okay,” I tell him. I want to say it. But I don’t. But if I don’t do it now, fuck. I don’t know to say. “How were your classes.”

“Okay,” he says “I feel asleep in the cafeteria third period, and split some boiling hot coffee in my lap.”

I cringe. “Shit,” I say, “Sorry. You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, “It hurt a little bit at the time, though.”

Fuck. I got to let this out. “Michael—” I start.

“Yeah?”

I try again. “Michael, I—” I can’t say it. “I—”

“Lindsay, you,” Michael laughs, “You.”

“Stop it.” I say.

“Okay,” he says. That’s not how I wanted to do this.

“I don’t know how to say this,” I tell him. Then I don’t know what to say.

“What?” he says. “Oh, let me tell you about this dream I had when I was asleep before—”

“Michael,” I try again, talking on top of him. “I don’t think this is working for me.”

“What?” he says.

“That’s not how I wanted to say that,” I say. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Shit. Michael, I can’t be in a relationship right now.”

“What do you mean,” he says, angry, “isn’t working? What are you talking about?”

“I just—“ I just don’t know how to say it.

“Just what?”

I can’t say it. I can’t be doing this. Shit. “I can’t do this.”

“What the fuck?” he says, “where the fuck does this come from?”

Shit. Shit. “Shit.” Fuck. “I don’t know. I just—what does that mean?”

“What does what mean?” he asks. I don’t know. “What the fuck, Lindsay?”

“It means I think I might like girls.”

“So you’re a fucking Lesbian now?” I glare at him. I wish we weren’t having this conversation here, where people could be hearing this. Shit. “I didn’t mean it like that, Lindsay.”

“Fuck you man,” I say, “this is hard.” What about for him. “No.” Fuck “I’m sorry.” Damn. “Just—“ Ah. “I don’t know.” Shit. “Shit.”

“It’s a little bit hard for me, too, you know,” he says. He’s trying hard to look down. Aw.

I want shit to be like that between us. “Michael,” I say, “I’m sorry. I know.”

“God, I just—“

“I know.” Do I? Shit. He starts crying. Shit. Shit. Shit. Not what I wanted. Not what I wanted. No, no, no. Doesn’t make him more attracting. Not less either. Just, I don’t want this. Fuck. Give him a minute. I hope he’s not blaming himself. Fuck. “Michael—”

“What?

“I just want you to now it’s not you, at all, or anything.”

“Right,” he says, “I’m going to believe that.”

“Really,” I try, “you’re great.”

“Not great enough, apparently.” Pathetic and mean and damn, I don’t know how to say it.

“God, Michael,” I say, “something things just don’t work.”

“So what?,” he says, “would they work if I didn’t have a dick?”

I don’t know what to say. “I don’t know.”

He snorts. Fucking snorts. “Of course you don’t”

Ow. “What’s that mean?”

“It means that this seems like kind of half-baked idea that you always have. Oh, let's drive to New York City! Let's dye our hair! I know! I'll be a lesbian!” He pauses, then continues, “Have any of those worked out, Lindsay?

Asshole. “How’s dying our hair half-baked?”

“That’s not the point,” he says, “and you know it.” I know it.

“It’s not a fucking decision like that,” I try to explain, “Fuck.

“Well then what is it?” he asks. “How long hae you not liked me because I’m a guy? As far as I can tell, it’s just today, damn it.”

“I don’t not like you.” No. “I mean—” I don’t know how to say it. “It’s not like a yes or no thing.” Spectrrums and shit. Relationships are bullshit. None of this is like that. That would make him happier. I can’t say that shit. “Shit’s not that simple, Michael.”

“Has our whole relationship just been a joke for you?”

No. No. No. “No.” I don’t mean it like that, but I mean it, and I say it, too easy “I love you.”

“You what?”

“Shit.”

“I love you too, Lindsay.” No, no. Not like this. Not like that. Not now. No, no. How do I explain?

“Aw… fuck. This— Ah. I mean, thanks.” Damnit, damnit. “I just—I don’t understand anything.”

“Did you mean it?” he asks. “When you said you loved me, I mean.” Why’s he have to repeat it like that. And so sweelty. Fuck.

“I mean—” No, not like that. “Yeah. But you know—” How to say it? “I mean, not like that, exactly, okay?”

“Okay.” Okay? “Well,” fuck, “not okay.”

“Yeah.” What else?

“Like how, then?” He can’t leave it.

“I don’t know.”

He can’t leave it. “Like a friend? Like a brother?” Yeah, no, not in the mean way, in the good way. “I don’t know too many sisters who make out with their brothers during movies, Lindsay.”

How? “Like a brother,” I try, “you didn’t know was your brother until after you made out with them?” No, no. “No.”

“It’s our one year anniversay in a week, you know. I never had any doubt we’d make it there.” What?

“Sorry.”

“Me too.”

“No.” He doesn’t have anything to apologize for. “You don’t—”

“What?” he asks.

“There’s nothing for you to be—“ Unless he meant— “Sorry about.” –unless he meant he was sorry I was breaking up with him. “I mean” –wait, what?— “Fuck, I don’t know how you meant that.” Sory, sorry, “just sorry.”

“Fine,” he says, “thank you for the apology.” What? No, no, no.

The assembly starts.

Afterwards, Michael gets up and walks away. But, shit’s still— “Michael,” I call. He walks away.

Michael. Explosion, lockdown. Michael? Explosion? Lockdown. Fuck. Today is fucked.

Matt Kukuchka:
I am the only guy in this class. I hope this isn't going to be like sophomore year in this class. All that pseudo-feminist bullshit. Hunh, back then I didn't talk in that class, I was too afraid. Fuck that, I'm the oldest one excepting the teacher. Oh great, and she's going to lead a class discussion. I hate her. She thinks I'm great. Bitch has yet to put one of my articles in the paper. Oh wait, she wants to talk to me before the class discussion. Shouldn't be trying to make these jackasses think on the first day like this.
“I want you to write a column.”
I think. “A column of what sort?”
“Op-Ed. Ryan graduated last year, and you have a distinctive writing style and voice, and I think it would be a nice counterpoint to the past two years, where Ryan wrote with calm, restrained conservativism.”
“I'll go along with that.”
“I'll want two by Monday.”
“Doable.”
And now she wants us to discuss. 11:20. This day is moving way too slowly. That's the worst topic. I mean, she just wants us to talk. I'll buy that, but no one in this class is going to disagree. Everyone thinks that's a double standard, really. I'm gonna fuck with them.
“You're all wrong.” Nice. I am so cool. And now everyone is giving me death glares.
“Care to elaborate?” Meredith. Skinny girl. Kind of a bitch. Always was nice to me. Hangs out with some awful people.
“I mean yeah, it's a double standard but it's a double standard in your favor.”
“You think we like being called sluts?”
“To a certain extent, yes. I mean, ask 13-year-old girls. Either way, the system is in your favor. Walk into a bar and ask if anyone would like to fuck you, five guys would raise their hand. I walk into the same bar, and get nothing. But that's not why it's in your favor. It's in your favor because that shit empowers you. You're the ones in charge, and if you've got a girl who practices zero discretion, it looks bad, and she gets labeled a slut, mostly by you lot. And if a guy has a lot of sex with multiple partners, It's probably because he either is able to figure who has no discretion or, if he's good, he can get the more intelligent of you to move in his favor. To abandon your discretion. And that's kind of worth applauding. Look at the animal kingdom. You choose the fucking mates and we get to bash skulls over you. And now we live in a society where it facilitates our natural roles as opposed to the ones we've had for years where a man chooses his wife. But no, you guys complain about it. You got what you were fighting for, now shut up.” And they did. For about 12 seconds, and then they all simultaneously started providing bad counterpoints. Announcement coming over the loudspeaker. Emergency assembly. Probably nothing. Maybe something awful happened. I can only hope.

We all walked to the auditorium. The principal walked to the stage. Always thought he was creepy as hell. People say he's a pedophile. I think he's creepy, but a pedophile, no.
“Okay, folks. First day, not going to be a great one. The steel mill blew up, for some reason I'm not really sure of, and the air outside is toxic because of chemicals and blah blah blah, do I look like the science teacher? So, everyone, we're all stuck here. Close all windows, remain inside, stay here for lunch, and try not to go crazy. We'll probably be staying here after school, so go ahead. Anyway. It's your first day, I'm your principal, yeah, I used to be a woman, yeah, I'm bi, I fucking swear sometimes, go complain, but I've gotten complaints and I'm still here, so…welcome to William Mason High, and please don't leave until the police tell you it's safe.”

I froze. I just stared. Kids got up, yelled, left the auditorium. I didn't. I just sat there. Staring forward. Not moving.

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