Date: Fri, 27 Jul 2012 16:00:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: Poison Ivy <lookwritethroughme@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Lens That's Black And White: Chapter 2

This story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblances to any person, place, or
written works are purely coincidental.  I retain all rights to the work,
and request that in any use of this material that my rights are respected.
Please do not copy or use this story in any manner without my permission.
If you are not legally allowed to be reading this, or are offended by
emotional/sexual relations between those of the same gender, well, what are
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(or just a greeting, I don't care) at lookwritethroughme@yahoo.com :D


Chapter 2 -- Viz

The first day of school had started out being uneventful. I was starting
the eleventh grade, at a new school, in a new town and I'd already decided
my fate: I was going to be a loser, like always. Maybe I'd even be
considered a freak, especially compared to the kids I'd be going to school
with. Money wasn't exactly a deciding factor here and I wasn't sure whether
to be grateful for that or resent it. Popularity was measured with the
clothes you wore, the sports you played, the parties you attended, the
liquor you could hold. I suppose I didn't really know that any of my
theories were true, but I could guess--especially after seeing the kids in
my neighborhood--that that was how it was going to be.

And when I walked into school that day, my theories were confirmed.

People looked at me like I had two heads, giving me a once over and
deciding that no matter who I was under my clothes, I wasn't worth getting
to know. You'd think that I'd start to dress like everyone else when I got
tired of being judged by my appearance but the truth was that I didn't care
enough about what people thought to change. I was content with the way I
dressed: fingerless gloves, black nail polish, red-dyed split ends and all.

My day went by smoothly; I figured out what I had to do to get my schedule
and how classes worked without asking for help. I sat in the back of every
class, trying to blend into the wall and stay invisible. It was easier to
be invisible than to be pointed out and singled out. So I tried to blend.

But when Creative Writing class began, I looked up at a precise moment that
is making me start to believe in fate. If I hadn't looked up at that
moment, I might have never noticed him. There stood a boy, walking over to
a desk in the middle of the room with an AP Geometry text book, presumably
from his last class, and a bunch of notebooks in hand. He was the most
magnificent thing I'd ever laid eyes on, I was sure of it. He had a shaggy
cut to his blonde hair and was wearing a striped green and gray polo that
stretched against his toned body. He was athletic, I could tell. Maybe a
football player, maybe not. He towered at around six foot one or two,
compared to my measly five foot nine.

I watched as he took his seat and faced the front of the room. He was
adorable in a way I hadn't thought possible until now.

But he was just the type of guy I'd been silently bashing all morning. And
just the type of guy that would never talk to me.

I don't know how long I stared at the back of his head, my hand hovering
over a blank sheet of notebook paper, so that I could at least pretend to
be doing something. After a while of my staring, he scratched the back of
his neck, as if he could literally feelmy eyes on him, and turned around
casually, as if he was just glancing around the classroom for familiar
faces or something. His eyes met mine and I felt electricity run through my
body. God, he was gorgeous. And he was looking right at me. I knew I should
look away, I was probably starting to seem extremely creepy but something
held me there, frozen and staring straight into his amazing blue eyes.

He broke the stare and turned back around but just sat there for a few
moments. I quickly started to scribble in my notebook, not taking notes or
anything, just writing everything and anything that came to mind. Mostly
poems about blue eyes and love. I saw him glance at me out of the corner of
my eye and just kept writing. I looked up as he turned around, looking
confused, like he wasn't sure if that had even really happened.

I ripped out the sheet with the poems on it and crumpled it up. What the
hell was I doing? I'd never been too sure about my sexuality but I'd
figured that I was just curious about guys and I hadn't found a girl that
I'd been attracted to in a way more than physically but I was lying to
myself because I'd never really been physically attracted to a girl. I'd
found some girls pretty but nothing more than admiration and acknowledgment
that they were attractive. And now this guy comes along and I know I'm
gay. That was the first time I'd ever admitted it, even to myself, in my
thoughts.

I was gay, and there was no denying it.

I wanted to touch him, feel the softness of his lips on mine, feel the
firmness of his muscles, the feather-like softness of his hair. I wanted to
stare into his blue eyes forever. I wanted him to hold me in his arms and
to feel the same way about me as I did about him. And I didn't even know
his name or anything about him! But I wanted to know.

I had to admit to myself that he was hopelessly straight and that I wasn't
doing myself any favors by starting to imagine myself with him, hugging
him, touching him, talking to him.

And then a mini miracle happened in Film Studies. I was partnered with
him. I'd been sitting, trying to listen to what my teacher was saying. I
got the part about the project and partners but I wasn't really giving him
my full attention. I was too busy sneaking glances at this gorgeous guy who
was in another class of mine. I still couldn't believe the way I was
thinking about another guy but I couldn't help it.

And then Mr. Graenley started announcing partners and I got all jittery but
I never imagined who he'd partner me with.

"Elijah Cole, you will be working with Jonah McCoy," he said. I looked up
at the sound of my real name and scowled, then wondered who this Elijah
Cole person was. When I looked and saw that he was referring to the
gorgeous guy that I'd been staring at every chance I got, the scowl was
wiped from my face and my mouth hung open a little. I quickly shut it and
took a deep breath.

My hands shook as I gathered my things and walked over to sit in the chair
next to him. "Hey," he said. I looked up.

He'd talked to me! He'd said actual, real words to me with his beautiful
lips.

"Hey. I'm Viz," I said and held out my hand. He grasped it firmly but
looked confused when I said that my name was Viz so I thought I should
explain a little. "I was born Jonah, but, uh, I go by Viz." I instantly
felt stupid and searched his eyes for signs that he thought I was. I
quickly snatched my hand away when I realized I'd been holding it for too
long.

"I'm Eli," He told me."So, um, sounds like a cool project, huh? Beats
essays and paper mache."

He was making conversation! He was actually trying to be friendly but all I
could think to say was, "Yeah." God, why was I being so shy? And stupid? I
was being extremely stupid!

I started nervously tapping my foot and then placed my intertwined hands on
the table. I kept sneaking covert glances at Eli and he looked straight
ahead, actually being able to pay attention in class. I sure as hell
couldn't. Mr. Graenley handed us rubrics and if he didn't, I wouldn't have
known what we even needed to get a good grade on the project. I was too
consumed with the chunk of blue-eyed sexiness that was sitting next to me,
in the form of a teenage boy.

And then, when class was over, a real miracle happened.

He invited me over to his house. Well I kind of invited myself but he
suggested working on our project and agreed when I suggested that we did
that at his house. I was going to go to his house! A few hours ago, I
didn't even think I'd ever talk to him, let alone go to his house, even if
it was only for a project.

And when the day was over and I laid down for bed, all I could think about
was seeing him again. And the next day was worst than the first, because I
was nervous to see him. I almost wanted to avoid him, to avoid the
embarrassing things I might do or say, but he was in two of my classes, and
even in my lunch, so I would see him no matter how hard I tried not to. He
was quiet in Creative Writing class, working diligently on our first real
assignment. Apparently, writing was a 'hidden talent' of his.

I tried not to openly stare too much, mostly for fear of what others might
say, not for fear of what he would think. For some reason, I wanted him to
know how I felt. But at the same time, him knowing scared the shit out of
me.

At lunch he sat with a bunch of jocks, who I learned were hockey players
and members of other sports teams (along with some cheerleaders), after
some eavesdropping. Jocks were the type of people I would never associate
with. Jocks were the type of people who made fun of me, called me a freak,
a goth, a fag, scrawny fag, anything they could think of. But Eli...well,
Eli was different. I just knew he was.

I sat down next to him in Film Studies, nervous that the day was coming to
a close and I'd have to go to his house again.

"Hey, man," he greeted me and I gave him a small head nod. What the hell
was I doing? Why wouldn't my mouth form words anymore?

Mr. Graenley started the class and Eli started taking notes so I followed
his lead, actually learning some stuff about film. But I knew Eli wasn't
going to attempt at conversation for the rest of the class period and I
probably would, if I didn't have a lump in my throat and if I could
remember how to speak. But his very presence next to me seemed to make my
brain go haywire.

Soon, class was over and I gathered my stuff from my locker and, walked
outside, waiting by the front entrance for Eli. He walked out a few minutes
later and said, "Ready to go?" I nodded and we walked to his sisters big
truck again, climbing into the back seat.

"Sup, Viz?" Eli's little brother, Josh, said.

"Hey, Josh, " I replied, and he turned back around.

"So, what project are you guys working on, anyway?"

Tabby asked as she pulled out of the school.

"We have to make a five minute film of each other to help the class get to
know us better," I responded. I wasn't sure who the question was directed
to but she didn't object when I answered.

"Sounds interesting," she replied. I knew she was just trying to make
conversation but with the way that conversation died out, it wasn't working
very well. The rest of the ride was silent and slightly awkward. Soon, we
were back at Eli's house and I followed him up to his room.

"So we should get some footage of you doing whatever it is that you usually
do," I said, taking out my professional Canon camcorder. It was bulky but
I'd managed to fit it in my backpack.

"Wow, that's a really nice camera," Eli commented.

"Thanks," I said and cleared my throat. "Well, um, let's get started."