There they are — Kinney and Taylor. I hear they’re closer than most friends. I heard that they were caught making out in the library. Well, I heard that they were caught fucking in the shower after gym class. It all started the first week of high school. Justin has never actually liked school, but he thought that high school would be different. I don’t really know why he thought that. We’ve always been an easy target for bullies, even in grade school. We’ve never even come close to fitting in with the in crowd — not that I care, but Justin always has for some reason unknown to me. I’ve personally never had the urge to hang out with anybody who judged you by the brand name of your shoes, or the house you live in. It took four whole days for Justin to realize that he was out of his league — that there wasn’t a damn thing that he could do to get these jerks to like him. And when he figured that out, he was crushed. I don’t like seeing my friend upset; I never have. When I saw him that day, leaning up against the building, waiting for me to get out so that we could walk home together, my heart just broke. I hadn’t seen him that unhappy in years. I did the only thing that came to mind — something that I have never thought twice about doing before, although I had never done it at school. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his forehead. That was the biggest mistake I could have made. The entire football team just happened to be walking by at the exact same time. Justin and Brian sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Justin pushing a baby carriage. I tried to laugh it off, but Justin, who was already about to break by this point, started crying. That was the second mistake — letting them see that they had succeeded in what they had set out for — to break us. “Pass your homework up to the front,” Mr. Walker, my senior English teacher, says. I turn around to take the papers from Justin. He looks like he’s going to cry. Four years and those idiots just won’t drop it. I can’t do anything about it and that makes me feel like I’ve let him down. Aw, look at that. They’re so in love, they can’t stop looking at each other. Just then Justin jumps up from his seat and runs out of the room. “Where did your friend go?” Mr. Walker asks me as he takes the papers out of my hand. “I think he’s sick,” I answer. It’s really not a lie. All of the stress from those idiots has caused Justin to get sick on more than one occasion. “Go check on him,” Mr. Walker tells me. I nod and get up from my seat. It’s just an excuse for them to go fuck in the bathroom. I resist the urge to flash my middle finger and leave the room. I find Justin in the closest boys’ restroom, dry-heaving in the last stall. I step inside with him and shut the door behind us. I reach my hand out to touch his back, but he jerks away. “Don’t touch me,” he tells me. I feel horrible that I caused all of this. I only did what I did because I love him. I ignore his request and start to rub circles on his back until his dry-heaves eventually stop. “I’m sorry Justin,” I say, bending down next to him. “It’s not your fault,” he says, turning to where his back is against the wall. He pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in his knees as he begins to sob. I kneel in front of him and place my hands on his arms. “You wanna go home?” I ask. He nods. “Okay. Go wait outside. I’ll go get our stuff and sign us out,” I tell him, before leaning down to kiss the top of his head. He visibly jumps at my action and I realize that my attempts to comfort him aren’t helping. “I’m sorry,” I quickly say. He looks up at me and forces a weak smile, “Don’t be. It really doesn’t bother me, it’s just…” “I know, come on,” I say as I help him up. I go back to the class to get our stuff and tell the teacher that Justin’s sick, before I go to the office and sign us out, then meet him outside. We walk home in silence, me looking at him every other step. As soon as I open the door to MY house, he pushes past me and heads up to my room. He knows it so well. And not for the reason YOU think. I follow his path, putting our books on the dresser. I shut the door and lock it, even though we’re the only ones home, and turn on the stereo. Some weird shit immediately starts to play, and I smile to myself. Justin is so predictable, he reminds me of a girl. I look over at him, curled up into a ball on my unmade bed. He’s crying so hard that he’s shaking. I kick off my shoes, climb in the bed with him and wrap my arms around him. “Justin?” I try. He mumbles something that sounds like a ‘what’. “It’s ok. Don’t let them get to you,” I tell him, even though I know that it’s useless. “I can’t help it,” he says, turning over to face me. “Why? What they say isn’t true,” I point out, “They can’t prove we’ve fucked.” It’s true, we haven’t. Well, Justin hasn’t. He’s a as pure as they come. “But, sometimes I want it to be,” he mumbles, at least that’s what I think he says. At this he only cries harder. “Jus?” I ask. He doesn’t respond, so I continue, “What do you mean sometimes you want it to be?” He doesn’t answer, most likely because his crying has gotten even worse. I rub his back until he’s seemed to calm down some. “Justin?” “I think it bothers me because in my mind, I want it to be true,” he says, burying his face into my chest. If I heard him right, he’s telling me that he wants us to be together, in the biblical sense. I can’t have heard him right. “Brian?” he says, “Forget I said anything.” Oh Justin; I can’t forget that easily.