Sitting through Easton’s talks were already painful, but this one was excruciating. Normally, he ends up talking about how he is sick of someone, or how he was thinking of running away. Not this time, though. This time he was talking about his crush. Of course, he’s had crushes in the past, but apparently, “This time is different!” No matter how many times he said it, I wouldn’t believe it. “It all started on Tuesday.” he explained. “Like every other morning, I woke up, got dressed, ate breakfast, and walked to school, but as I got there the doors were locked. So I squished through to the front, and saw Alena, so I went up to her.” He said. “Ya, Ya. Blah blah blah. Get to the good stuff already!” I exclaimed, a little too loudly, granting us a nasty look from the waitress a table over. Easton rolled his eyes and placed his elbows on the table, resting his head. “Fast forward half an hour. We’re inside, sitting in the entry hall, right? Well, I go to make my way to the vending machines, only to find them shut off. Of course, the day I don’t eat breakfast is the day I don’t get the sweet, sweet taste of twinkies.” He put a depressed look on his face and gazed into the distance.
Before he could get too far into his dream of carbohydrates, I reached over and
slapped him across the face. Immediately, his body shot up with surprise. “What was that for?!” He exclaimed. The waitress put a hand on her hip and gave us the evil eye. “Just get back to the story, will you?” I whispered. “Yea. Ok. So I go back to Alena, and sat until the bell rang.” He said uninterestedly. ”So. I get to first period, and I don’t really notice anything different about the class, so I just went and sat down at the back of the room, cautious not to get seen by Mr. Harold, the old bum.” He scowled at his name. “So anyways, I sat down and took my jacket off. It was very cold out that morning, but the heat was blasting through the vents.” Then they strolled into class, wearing shorts and a tank top.” He murmured, cutting off the end.
“Yea?” I said inquisitively. He snapped back to life, and continued on, “So, as usual, Mr. Harold was being a piece of-” The waitress slapped him in the head with a menu before he could finish, then transitioned the food from her little portable table to ours, then strutted away. “So anyway,” Easton started, shoving a bite of his Philly Cheese Steak into the black hole people describe as his mouth. “He called them out, saying how it is very irresponsible to wear such an exposing outfit!” he imitated Mr. Harold’s voice. “They just ignored him and sat down, the goose bumps still apparent on their slightly exposed chest. You could even start to see a blue tint fading into their skin from the subzero weather.” He described. “Finally!” I exclaimed at a whisper. “Something interesting!” Easton just glared at me and continued talking and eating. For a good five minutes he described how his mystery crush had “muscle twitches in their calves”, or “a very strong voice” or even how “their shoulders had scattered bits of acne.” It really is remarkable how one person can notice so much about a person without meaning to.
“Moving on,” he sighed. “So as the bell rang, I rushed out of the classroom, needing something to eat. By ten the vending machines were on, so I was set. I ate two packs of twinkies before you could say ‘obese.’” I stared at him, watching as he licked the remaining grease from his meal off of his fingers. “Then, as I turned the corner to go to second period, I started slipping my left over $2.50 into my pocket. As I did, I picked up to a speed walk. Then, as I turned the corner to get to the hallway, BOOM!” He created an explosion gesture with his hands, making me jump, and the waitress yell at us. “Sorry miss.” I said, lowering my head. I looked at Easton’s cowering face. “Go on…”
“Right” he snapped back up, his face alight with happiness. “So I turn the corner, and I slam into them. They must have been in a rush too, cause they ended up on their butt in a matter of seconds.” He closed his eyes, letting a long deep breath escape from the deep recesses of his lungs. “Well, I freaked. But what could I do? I had to get to class, so I just yelled an apologie and ran to the class. Afterward, I went and found them in the lunch room. Their arm was wrapped tightly in medical tape, and their was a small bulge in the rib area.” He motioned to the area on his own body. Their friends hadn’t reached the table yet, so I quickly slipped through the crowds of people, and approached the table. As I got there, I went up to them, and said ‘sorry for the crash.’” Easton’s face was starting to flush red, spreading to the tip of his ears. “So they said, ‘It’s really no problem, my fault.’ We exchanged a conversation for a while arguing about whose fault it was.” He made a gesture to show the conversation was boring. “Eventually it got to the point of me asking them if they were all right, and them showing me their bruised wrist. It was nasty. Then they lifted their shirt a little for me to see a bruised area of their torso. Apparently I had jabbed my math book into them as we crashed.”
I stared at him. Since when has it ever been that easy for someone to create a conversation with a crush?! Why can Easton do it so well? Then I realized something. “Wait,” I said, “Why do you keep on referring to this mystery crush as a they, or them?” Easton tensed up as soon as I said it. I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten as he clenched it. His face became flushed and his eyes started to water. He swiped at them with his jacket sleeve. “Because-” he started, his eyes drifting to the window. “Because they…” His voice broke. A tear rolled down his cheek. It was remarkable how fast his mood changed. “East?” I asked, worried. He looked at me again, eyes bloodshot and flooded with the same tears that then cascaded down his cheeks. “They is a He.”