Will 2

The explanation for this section is here. There's some clunkiness ahead that need to be addressed…unless you can't tell where it is.

As much as I wanted to pretend like things are all cool, the next day school was just weird. I felt like everyone just knew, somehow, that Will had kissed me yesterday. He could have texted me sorry, but he didn't, and so even though I knew I shouldn't think this way a small part of me doubted that he was sorry at all. Maybe he was gay and just felt like he couldn't tell anyone. Or maybe it had been so long since hed gotten some that everything just kind of spilled out when I stepped forward to close the door after him. There was a spiky cloud over my head. What if Cassie told in spite of her promise? It would get around so fast. I'd never been bullied, but I could imagine that it would suck. Or maybe the gay kids here didn't have to deal with that since no one really cared. Maybe I should corner one of them and ask, just in case.

Will didn't look at me the whole day. He laughed when I made a joke and he talked to Josh plenty, but not even once did his black cartoon eyes lift to meet mine. It made me feel super guilty for some reason, like me freaking out at home had somehow passed through the ether to reach Will, and he knew and felt even worse than I did and was punishing himself for kissing me. It's not like we had been in a fight. I knew how to come back from those, but how could we possibly get past the goodbye peck at my door yesterday? So, I fell back on old habits and invited Will over after school.

The Very First Part of the Short Story Currently Known as Prom Night

It has been over a decade since I spent any time around high school girls, so I have no idea if this is an accurate representation of how they think or act. Whatever.

“Oh my god, seriously?” Kenzie squeals, piercing the refectory buzz. When you attend a fancy schmancy private school, you don’t call it a cafeteria. Flipping her smooth brown hair over her shoulder Kenzie leans in close. “He asked you?”

I give her a look. “Please. You know it doesn’t mean anything. We’re practically siblings.”

“But it’s senior effing prom,” she counters emphatically. “Josh could go with anyone, and he picked you.”

I know there’s more coming, but so is Josh and the rest of the upper echelon. “Shut up,” I say as a preventative measure.

“His childhood friend.” She clasps her hands over her heart.

“Shut up.”

“The love that has been right beside him all along.”

“Shut.” I kick at Kenzie under the table. “Up.”

“Hi!” she says brightly as Josh reaches our table.

Yes, Sir pt. 1

I know an update is long overdue, but I have been swamped like Prince Humperdinck. Nothing in real life is letting up, so blogging is on the back burner. Strange Bedfellows wallows in the mire of edits, the Windshield Incident Pt. 2 needs to be formatted and the cover made, and in the meantime I wrote a nasty little short that I will post in pieces. Now you've been updated. Bye.

Caleb walked in when I was reading the newspaper. I heard him say goodbye to Archer, but I had reckoned they were both going out the front door. Otherwise I might have put on a pair of shorts and a shirt, rather than sit there on the couch with my dick half-hanging out of my boxers. Then again, since Caleb’s footsteps stopped a full minute before I peered over the paper at him, I might not have.

“Hey, Caleb.”

He seemed to remember himself then, lifting his gaze quickly and giving me a nervous smile. “Hey, Mr. Kelly. I was just putting my glass in the kitchen.”

“All right.” I crossed my leg and turned a page. Caleb knew where everything was. The kid had practically grown up in this house, though as a long-haul driver I didn’t see much of him. My wife, Brittany, said he was a good kid. Quiet, a good friend to our rowdy son.

Caleb hadn’t moved.

Without lowering the paper I asked, “Do you need something, Caleb?”

“Uh, yes sir. I mean, no, sir.”

I really looked at him then. He was probably close to nineteen now, with a typical teenager’s lean build. Average height, with light brown hair that he parted on the side, straight nose and slightly ruddy cheeks, Caleb was the fresh-faced boy scout type who probably kept fit by mowing old ladies’ lawns. He was cute because he managed to be free of acne at his age, and had big, soulful eyes that I was just noticing because they seemed fascinated by my crotch. And just think: until two minutes ago I would have described Caleb as boring.