The Thin Line: Chapter 1

Chapter One: Liars, Cheats, And A Passer By

I was passing the usual subjects on my way to my lunch time haunt. Just like any other school we were all divided up into categories. The jocks, the preps, the nerds, and so on and so on until you got to me; the outcast. It didn’t really bother me, at least when I was thinking straight. I guess some part of me would have liked to be the center of attention and popular, loved by all. But honestly, the people I would have to hang out with would be the death of me. Take that any way you like, I mean it both ways.

I dropped to the floor under the old oak tree that had been spray-graffitied many times by the many passing generations plagued to leave their mark on the only high school experience they’d ever get. Plopped my lunchsack down and let its contents roll haphazardly onto the meager grass there was. I didn’t bother picking any of it up, I wasn’t going to eat it anyways, and the seagulls seemed to enjoy it more then I ever would.

Among the first rules you learn when entering high school, besides not ever being caught alone on freshman-hunting day, is that lunch time is much more then a law based break the school has been demanded to give. The true purpose of lunch, is the social ladder. Anyone who is anyone will only been seen with everyone who is everyone, geeks with geeks, Goths with Goths, jocks with jocks and the list goes on… but for God’s sake you will not mix circles for fear of being shunned by any group of which you occupy. During lunch you try your best to ride the ride and earn a bit of schoolyard fame.

Lunch is my hunting ground.

Sketchbook in hand I randomly chose my prey. Or perhaps it wasn’t all that random. The fact of the matter was that my whole sketchbook was full of pictures of him. Rough sketches to detailed portraits. I could draw him with my eyes closed. Hell, even when I’m sleeping his face haunts me. And just another high school cliché, he was out of my league, one of those unattainable fellows. Jock.
I bit my lip in concentration as I skillfully curved the arch of his back as he threw back his head in laughter at a joke one of his posse had cracked, or so I assumed. Even this far away I could still make out every detail of his face, his hair, and his body. My hand skimmed the paper creating a full body outline, my hands knowing each curve and plane as if they had undressed him slowly. Ha, if only. Well, if you count daydreams it had happened thousands of times already.

I blame my absolute concentration for my downfall.

As the grass shoved itself unhelpfully up my nose and I chewed gracelessly on clodded earth the jeers of my attackers echoed across the field and adjoining cafeteria. Seeing as my hands were empty I assumed that they had my sketchbook. Well, damn.

Opening my eyes I came face to face with one bright and shiny white sneaker followed by it’s pair. My gaze traveling past the bright red and white football uniform to a laughing face that the girls in my class all gossiped about. I didn’t really see the charm, but I was a bit bruised so I suppose I should retain judgment.

Bullshit.

“Hey, look here! We’ve got a bone-a-fied stalker in our midst!” Blonde-Jock said as he waggled my sketchbook in front of his buddies face. Said buddy broke out in laughter and called the rest of the team over for inspection, or perhaps they all just came because their bloodlust sensed a slaughter.

“Whoa dude,” another team member stated as the last, and all star, member of the team rounded upon the scene. “These are all of you.”

“The little runt’s got a crush on you.” Caterwauled one, while another made wolf-whistles.

It didn’t matter much to me, by now I knew the outcome of events and was resigned to it. Even under all of that though, there was a slim bit of hope that even I couldn’t suppress as I met the eyes that I had just recently sketched to perfection. The eyes I had both nightmares and fantasies about. Boy, I knew those eyes. But the tiny hint of pity they hid slammed my caged door shut.

“What a queer.” Those eyes drilled holes into me as cheerleaders giggled in the background. “Boys, you know what we do to queers.”

Later on, I would mourn my ripped and bloody sketchbook more then the black eye and bruised ribs. At least they had gone relatively easy on me, teenage boys having a wild imagination for torture methods. The day was over, and as I walked towards home on the outskirts of town I smirked, or tried to around the puffy. I had indeed had my fifteen minutes of fame. In fact, the whole school had surely known my name by the end of the day. What more could a boy ask for?
A tall shadow draped itself over mine beside the gate to my house and I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. This was our routine, or as much of one as anyone could have.

“Hey,” He said, and the apology was in his voice, even if he didn’t offer one. I suppose one should be sorry for not sticking up for a best friend. Or… secret hidden best friend I suppose. “I got you a new sketchbook.”

“Thanks.” I replied, the way I always did. There was no point in explaining my feelings, ones that could only lead to awkwardness and grief, more so then there already was. “You coming in?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

And after a quick look around, to make sure no one had seen us, he shut the door behind him.