Current mood:

crushed

High School Journals
Title: High School Journals

Disclaimer: don't know, don't own, never happened, permission less.

Rating/pairing: R, Matt/Jere and who ever else I want.

FYI: Matt's POV. High school. Long and chaptered. Much like Kid Stuff. Just not. Read and review. I CRAVE REVIEWS. REEEEEVIIIIIIIEWS! Yep.

Hi Gil. I saw your boobs.

***

“If anything,” Mike says, flopped across an entire corner of the couch, “It makes Anne a lesbian. For all intent and purpose, he’s a girl.” Part of this sprawled positioning is due to a sport related injury- a pulled muscle he acquired the day before yesterday when he skimped out on his regular morning warm up before jogging.

I laugh at his comment concerning Davey Havok, who is currently gracing our TV screen in the video for Girls Not Grey, but my sister, who’s going through a dark artist faze, only stares stonily at the TV screen for a moment.

“He’s got balls. He was talking about someone grabbing them in that interview with that really abrasive, homo guy, that guy with the hat and the bushy hair and the…I don’t know, I think he wears plaid,” she says, sort of cocking her head down in my direction, as if I could prompt words.

I’m sitting in front of the couch, my back leaned up against the front of it, with my sister to my left in one corner, and my brother on the opposite side.

“Uh, that guy who interviewed Fat Mike? And he didn’t want to do the ‘do do do’ shit? It starts with an ‘n’, his name…that guy?” I ask.

“Yeah, that guy. He interviewed just Davey and Jade. And Jade was just standing there with his arms crossed looking like a body guard, really pissy and whatever. And the annoying guy was like, I don’t know, reading something from a message board, and something else happened, and he was like, how could we protect Danny’s balls?”

I laugh again, recalling the whole interview, nodding my head slightly. “And Jade was like, well, maybe we could protect Darby’s balls with some kind of belt?”

“Which one’s Jade?” Mike asks, shifting slightly behind me. I have a feeling he’s reaching for the remote because AFI isn’t really his bag. I don’t think he’s digging this music, but I can’t stop him from my position on the ground.

“Jade is the guitarist. He’s the one…that the rabbit, I don’t know, disappeared into his crotch in the beginning.” I say as a way to distract Mike, and I’m sure his attention is back on the screen.

“His crotch eats rabbits?” Mike sounds concerned while Anne and I stifle giggles.

“Mmhmm. Didn’t he go to college or something, got some kind of degree in psychology? God, Davey is sexy no matter what. His androgyny makes him that much hotter.”

“He did get some kind of degree. He wasn’t the original guitarist either.” I say, sort of off-handed, because I know Mike’s got the latter end of her comment covered.

“If you think androgyny is hot, that makes you a lesbian.”

She lets out a cold, forceful laugh. “No, lesbians like girls. Even if he doesn’t look like a boy, he doesn’t look like a girl. His jaw is too pronounced.”

“What kind of job can you get with a degree in psychology?” I wonder allowed, stretching my legs out in front of me. I can feel the pins and needles sliding beneath my skin and I sigh. I hate it when my legs fall asleep.

Mike snorts. “You can teach it.”

“That’s it?”

“Basically.”

“Ew, Mike, turn it, I hate this band.” Anne cries, and I feel her behind me, leaning over to snatch the remote from Mike’s hands.

“No! And it’s not a band anyway, it’s a rap group, jeez.”

“Well I hate rap, turn it.”

“Well I had to sit through that whiny gay guy hitting ungodly notes, you can deal with Chingy.”

“Matt, say something!”

“This isn’t a democracy, you guys can’t vote. I got the remote, I got power over what we watch.”

I don’t like getting involved in arguments with my older siblings, so I don’t bother. I just stand up with the coffee table as support, carefully balancing, my legs smarting.

“If this is an autocracy, then Matt and I are going to over throw you because this song is awful and that guy should get shot or something. Where are you going?” Anne stops yelling at Mike long enough to address me, sounding utterly annoyed.

“To get a soda. I’m thirsty.”

“But what about this atrocity on our TV?” She demands.

“Uh, well. I’ll be right back. And then we can uh…you know. Have a big fight over it,” I mumble, not really concerned with my incoherency. I walk with stiff legs around the sofa, heading for the kitchen. I need a drink and some crackers, and probably need to relieve my bladder as well.

“Matty, wait,” Mike leans back, grabbing my elbow as I pass behind the sofa, handing me his hot pack thing off his leg. “Throw that in the microwave for a couple seconds?”

“Sure thing,” I say, tucking it under my arm as I walk in to the kitchen. It’s still winter technically, but my brother is planning on trying out for track in the spring. He works hard at it too; whenever the streets aren’t too icy, he’s out there jogging or running or walking. He pulled a muscle in his thigh the day before yesterday, so even though it’s a bright, warm Sunday, he’s stuck inside with me and Anne watching music videos.

I pad barefoot across the cool linoleum in the kitchen, popping open the microwave door and sticking the pack in, quickly setting the timer and pushing start before walking towards the sink.

I get out a glass and press it against the lever on the door of the fridge to fill it half way with ice, glancing out the window over the sink to check on my dog. She’s an Australian Shepard named Tiffy, and with her shaggy coat, she does pretty well with the cold Blue Island weather. She’s been out all morning, chained up in the backyard.

We have to chain her now because she can jump the fence.

The phone rings so I set my glass down on the countertop, crossing the kitchen floor to pick up the receiver.

“Matt, answer the phone!” I hear my brother say, and I just kind of roll my eyes.

“Hello?”

“Matt there?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Sorry, you sound like your brother.”

“Why does everyone say that?”

“Maybe because it’s true.”

“Yeah, but you should be able to tell the difference.”

“Dude, your mom can’t even tell the difference.”

“She can look-wise; she just likes to call me Mike. So anyway, what’s up?” I shift, leaning my back up against the counter to get more comfortable, staring off blankly across the shiny kitchen floor.

“Well Scott and I had a snow ball fight.”

“With what, there’s like. No fucking snow.”

“There’s still a little, in my backyard and stuff. Not really any more. It was more about the tackling, I suppose.”

“If Scott Sarkan tackled you into the frozen ground, I can’t believe you’re still breathing.”

“He completely body slammed me. I hit the ground so hard, and I just kind of layed there thinking I was dead.”

“But you weren’t!”

“No, I wasn’t!” he laughs, that deep, throaty laugh and I grin, shifting the receiver against my ear, holding it between my shoulder and jaw.

“Did you get him back?” I ask, walking back across the kitchen, attending to my unfinished drink. The phone cord was purposely made to stretch the length of the kitchen, so my mom could talk on it while cooking and stuff. She practically lives in the kitchen; her cushioned seat at the breakfast table is moulded into the shape of her ass.

“Only kinda. Tony and Nick were there, and Nick did. Got him back for pile driving my poor, skinny body. Even though Tony went off on this long tangent thing about how I was like, not that skinny. He said something about spring chickens. I think he was high.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s because he’s always high.” I hold the fridge open with one shoulder, pulling out the Coca-Cola bottle from behind the milk carton and leftovers.

“I never notice that kind of thing. I can’t even recognise the smell. Oh, dude, we like. Okay, it was me, Merril, Scott, and Steve. And we were walking down the hallway of Scott’s apartment complex, and I go, dude, that smells bad. And Steve’s just like. That’s pot. And I’m like. Someone’s smoking pot? And they’re like. Where were you raised? Cos I was all, I don’t even know, amazed that someone was smoking pot in their apartment. Cos I was thinking, I don’t know, that someone would smell it and go call the cops?”

“Locked up in your room, you poor, innocent bastard. You’re sheltered like whoa. It’s not your fault. And Steve’s a dealer anyway.”

“Apparently, private school fucks you up for life.”

“All school fucks you up for life,” I say, carefully unscrewing the top from the bottle and pouring some coke into my glass, pausing as the foam rises to the lid. “That’s what school does.”

I hear him yawn on the other end. “I’m so tired, god. My parents wouldn’t let me sleep last night, they were like. I don’t even know, being gay. They were like, well, I have to do this test next week to qualify for this thing, and they were making me study until like three in the morning, quizzing me and shit. I finally was like, I don’t give a shit Mom, I’m going to bed.”

“If you don’t sleep, how’re you gonna do good on a test?”

“I don’t know, a case of Red Bull. Everyone thinks I fucking love math and shit, but you know what, I hate it with such a passion. I don’t know why numbers have to make sense to me of all people.”

“On the bright side, at least your good at something…”

“Pssh, it does me no good. I just get over worked and everyone over estimates me because they hear I can work math fast,” he sighs and stifles another yawn. “Anyway…Are you going to come by today?”

“When?”

“I don’t know, whenever. I have to nurse my wounds and go to the store for that aforementioned Red Bull, and then I’ve got some school work to get through. But then, I’m free. Hey, you wanna spend the night?”

“My parents aren’t home and I’d probably have to ask. They’re pissed off at me.”

“Why?”

“Because Anne is an aspiring artist that gets invited to all these high class art shows and Mike is an all star athlete, and I’m just Matt. Apparently, 2 out of 3 isn’t high enough for them.”

“You’ve got plenty of talent, Matt.”

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“Your cartoons are witty and well drawn.”

“Oh please, cartoons. Anyone can draw cartoons.”

“…I can’t.”

“It’s okay Jere, I’m not trying to be an ass. I’m just saying what my dad says. Anything that I’m good at isn’t important to him.”

“Don’t worry about it. Dads are like that. Parents are like that. At least you do what you want, I mean. Yeah, whatever. When they get home, just ask and call me back, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” I nod my head slightly, even though he can’t see me. I take a sip of my drink, looking back out across the yard, at my dog digging holes because she’s so bored. “Either way, you wanna hang out at the park? My dog needs to be runned and worn out and I know you’re the man for the job.”

“Just because I love wrestling and running and frolicking about with dogs…you take advantage of me.” I can hear his smile and it makes me grin, swishing soda around in my mouth so it fizzes between my teeth.

“So I’ll meet you at four?”

“I’ll bring Denver so we can entertain their obvious physical attraction.”

“Didn’t Tiffy bite him?”

“Yes she did, but he pines for her, Matt. He pines. He’s staring at me right now…I think because I’m eating a sandwich. Sit, Den. Sit….siiiiit…oh, fuck it, here you go.”

“You spoil your dog, Jeremiah.”

“I know, I know. Look, I gotta go, my mother just walked in and she’s staring at me like I did something wrong. She’s motioning. I think she forgot I don’t know sign language…she also forgot I can’t read lips.”

“I’m gonna let you go before you get grounded.”

“Okay man. See you at four.”

“Yeah.”

“Later.”

“…Jere, wait.”

“What?”

“I…never mind. Later.” I bite down on my lip to shut myself up, taking another long sip of my drink.

“What were you gonna- well, okay. Bye.” His phone clicks and I refill my drink before putting the coke bottle away and going to hang up the phone again.

“What’s taking you so long?” Mike calls from the living room, turned around and leaning against the back of the couch to see me. The phone is hung right by the entrance into the kitchen and I roll my eyes at him.

“I was taking a call, man, hold your fucking horses.”

“Hurry up, you’re missing Lost Prophets. Look, it’s Lee Gaze! And Ian! And, what’s that guys name, Stewart or something!” Anne squeals. This is how she naturally is, really happy and giggly, but as soon as our parents or anyone else is within ear shot, it’s all about cynicism and death.

I grab my drink from the counter and get a box of teddy grahams from the cabinet before retrieving Mike’s pack from the microwave, going back into the living room.

“Yeah, because I needed some masturbation material and Lee Gaze is it,” I say, setting my things down on the coffee table and throwing Mike’s pack into his lap.

“Thanks,” he says, leaning to see around me.

“How come you like calling me a dike, but you never call him a faggot?” Anne asks Mike and he just shrugs.

“Because Matt’s cooler then you, I don’t know, bull dike.”

“Shut up!”

“Is it that time of the month again?”

“Not all my feelings are dictated by my bleeding cunt, you know.”

“And on that note!” I say loudly, because the image of any girl on her period makes most guys physically ill. The fact that she’s my sister is really just icing on the cake. I scramble for the bathroom down the hall, because I still have to piss, just catching Mike’s comment.

“That was the nastiest, most graphic image all morning. I am now celibate. Thank you.”