Date: Wed, 10 Feb 2010 15:17:07 -0500
From: Jade <phantomscorpio77@gmail.com>
Subject: Gay/High School : If You Could Read My Mind 2

This story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblances to any person, place, or
written works are purely coincidental.  It may contain consensual sex
between young men.  Do not read if you find that objectionable or if it is
illegal for you to view this content for whatever the reason.

Copyright 2010 Jade, All Rights Reserved.  Permission to post
electronically is given to www.nifty.org and its affiliated mirror sites
only.  Otherwise do not post, copy, or use this story in any manner without
my permission.

Always love to hear from you, please let me know what you think @:
phantomscorpio77@gmail.com.


>>).:.(<<

If You Could Read My Mind


Bailey strolls through the halls of his new school towards his locker, his
mind a whirl of random thoughts.

So far the day hasn't been that bad if he's honest.  Math class first thing
in the morning was bearable.  English was actually fun, getting to sit back
and listen to the class discuss the book he and Megan had to read over the
holidays to get up to speed with his classmates.  He gets the feeling that
pretty much everyone else has about as much a clue what the George Orwell
book is about as they do, totally agreeing inside with one guys assessment
about it being the three little pigs from childhood fairy tales all grown
up and strung out on drugs, thinking they run a farm.  The one kid really
cracked up the whole class and Bailey almost felt comfortable.

Just like that his first class in a new school was over.  French class was
next.  Being from Moncton, so close to the French province of Quebec,
French is old hat to him.  Assuming the same holds true in Charlottetown,
just a little further east proves to be a mistake.  Happy that he has one
class at least that he can excel in, Bailey spent a good amount of time
deciding between two guys which he's rather French kiss.  Until he gets to
know the two guys a decision is too hard, his final verdict is a three-way.

Lunch was lunch; he met up with Megan and Brooke and the three took a table
in a less populated area of the cafeteria knowing all eyes were on them.
Sure beats hiding in the library like he had to for the last few months at
his old school after he became too much heat for his friends.  The one
thing all three noted is that the rank and order of their peers is hard to
discern.  No one is visibly different.

Sure there are the obvious geeks, but otherwise there are no cliques to be
seen.  No goth kids, no jocks and cheerleaders, no anything.  Everyone
seems a little too similar as if they all just fit in together in one big
group.  He hopes there's at least one gay guy.  Not that he's going to out
himself here, he's just like the peace of mind knowing that he's not the
only one.  Accidentally a little too late on Megan's part, the three agree
completely that even Brooke and Megan should keep things quiet about
themselves too.

He enjoyed his last class, figuring out the mechanics of how things work is
what interests him most.  During the latter part of the class while
Mr. McIntyre was trying a different way of explaining the theory to a
couple guys, Bailey also studied the dynamics of the classroom.  The smart
kids that caught on right away, the friends that latched onto those ones,
the two that seemed smug up in the front row.

Then there was Neville who wasn't focusing on the teacher at all as he
moved from one side of the chalk board to the other.  Bailey decides that
means one of two things.  Either Neville is that self-confident, somewhat
rebellious cool guy that sits in the back of the classroom because he
really is smart and doesn't need to pay attention, or he is the poor loser
that is shunned to the back corner.  He's dressed a lot better than the
unaware geeks in the room, but then again his clothes seem at juxtaposition
to him.

Bailey's pretty sure the first James Dean description of Neville is more
accurate based on the acid tongue, but he isn't going to rely on him for
help just in case, because he's certain he also recognizes the forlorn look
Neville seemed to give off.  He sported that beaten-down look himself after
coming out and before ultimately moving.  Down but not yet defeated.  He
hasn't a clue as to Neville's story but he's sure he picked the right empty
seat in that classroom.  Plus, he finds Neville incredibly cute.

At his locker Bailey snaps out of his mental replay of the class and smiles
at a couple of faces he remembers from English.  Everyone seems friendly
enough he decides.  The first day is almost over.  Each day gets easier
from here, Bailey repeatedly tells himself.  Maybe this group by his locker
will soon be friends; they don't turn and whisper or ignore him.

In fact one of the guys nods at him as he stuffs his gym clothes into his
bag, "Hey bud."

He exchanges salutations with them, "Hey."

"Got gym now?"

"Yeah, time for some fun," He says along with a nod.

"Well have a blast.  Catch you in class tomorrow."

"Thanks, take it easy."

Not exactly an invitation to be friends, but at least it's a start.  Making
his way to the gym he thinks of walking in late just because, but then
decides against it because you really couldn't get lost in this school if
you tried.

Stopping at the gym office, Bailey introduces himself to his teacher and is
directed to the change room.  He spots a couple guys that catch his
interest in one area of the room and another further into the room that was
also in his last class.  Something makes his mind go back to Neville.  All
gym class, while holding his own in volleyball as everyone tests the `new
kid' Neville keeps popping up in his thoughts.

Thinking back, he could swear that Neville wasn't even paying attention to
the lesson and yet he'd whisper the right answer aloud when Mr. McIntyre
asked a question.  Bailey is doing much the same right now as he's playing
volleyball but his mind is focusing more and more on Neville.  Something
about Neville has captured him, he hopes the tough guy act Neville tried at
first isn't his real personality.  The little sighs and other barely
audible noises Neville made throughout the class were cute.  The growling
stomach not so much, but the muted groans that followed definitely were.
It also helps that Neville is definitely cute too if maybe a little young
looking, with perfectly smooth, unblemished skin.  Maybe they can be
friends.

>>).:.(<<

Walking directly from one class to the next Neville is the first person in
the room.  Returning a series of novels he re-read over the holidays to his
teacher's shelf he sighs to himself.  `Back to the grind.  Maybe Bailey
will be in this class too and sit beside me again,' Neville thinks as he
takes a seat in the room.  The thought both worries and excites him.

A voice just outside the doorway brings Neville back to the world around
him.  Josh Wharton is in making after school plans with his friends before
he enters the classroom.  Nice enough guy when he chooses to be, but lately
he's been hard on Neville.  The fact that Neville almost was friends with
him stings a little, but things are better this way.  Josh was getting a
little too close to the truth and Neville didn't want the shit-storm that
would destroy his life that would surely follow, so he did the only thing
that he could; he pushed Josh away.

Josh walks into the room and spots Neville.  He long ago stopped trying to
get too close to Neville.  When they first met in science class a year
earlier he was a little taken aback at first by how Neville didn't care for
whatever was trendy like everyone else.  Finally Josh had met someone who
he didn't have to struggle to keep up with.  In the process he learned that
Neville is incredibly private and backed off, but realizes he pushed too
hard.

Josh is also pretty sure Neville is gay and likes him, for which reason
he's happy their friendship diminished because it unnerves him.  He doesn't
know how he should feel about it or what to do.  Should he say something so
that Neville cools it?  If he says something about it and he's wrong he'll
surely offend Neville.  Neville definitely lashed out when Josh was trying
to get to know him better and suggested they hang out at Neville's place
sometime, suggesting that it can't be any worse than his home.  He often
thinks about Neville, but he doesn't care enough anymore to try and figure
him out.

Josh knows Neville will avoid eye contact and pretend not to see him
walking in, even thought he'll be able to catch Neville looking at him at
least ten times in the next hour and fifteen minutes ahead.  Instead of
otherwise being ignored Josh walks behind Neville and pats a hand on his
shoulder.  Continuing on to the area he usually sits in, he keeps it short,
"Hey Nev, hope you had a good vacation."

"Thanks, you too," Neville answers in return as Josh makes his way through
the room.

"Oh, see me after class, at my locker," Josh says as an afterthought.

Neville's learned to take the taunts by his peers.  He can take the
spitballs or other small objects occasionally being thrown at him by the
worst of his classmates for being a bit of a weirdo.  He's used to that.
What he can't take is having to reveal bits and pieces of who he really is.
It doesn't matter if it's one on one like with Josh or to the whole class.
He doesn't like exposing any part of his true self to those judgmental
asses and sneering bitches.  `If only they knew' he often finds himself
thinking, not letting it get to him.

His last classroom of the day is set up with the desks in a square, each
student fully facing each other.  With no seating plan and the class barely
over half capacity, Neville is almost always afforded an empty desk on
either side of him, partly because he's not overly social, partly because
of his personal hygiene.  Catching a whiff of himself, he's pretty
confident today he doesn't smell like the poor and homeless.

He knows he sometimes does, but can't help it.  Circumstances in his life
don't always let him shower daily at his home and he's too afraid to use
the school showers because it would reveal his now wisp of a body.
Likewise his methods of laundry unquestionably leave something to be
desired, and on top of that he can't tell if the clothes smell fresh enough
over the stench of his home.

Hate is an emotion despite his situation that he rarely resorts to, never
letting himself feel anger towards others for their station in life or for
his.  Today he reaches hate for his classmates a second time when a pretty
smelling girl hangs her backpack over the seat beside him and settles into
the desk.

He almost cracks a smile as he recognizes the scent to his left.  To him
it's like warm cookies fresh from the oven mixed with flowers.  Without
having to look he can place the owner of the perfume and body spray to one
of the girls at a new family diner that just opened up between Christmas
and the New Year.  She must have just moved here too.

`My lord,' he thinks, `maybe these new kids are vampires and can smell my
decaying body even though my heart is still pumping.  I may not have any
meat to me anymore but I still have blood for this tribe of Lost Boys.
Maybe my end is truly at hand.'

Megan looks at him and smiles.

Neville purposely looks ahead and slightly away from the girl to his left,
instead focusing on the swirling snow outside.  He can feel the cold of the
windows from his seat and his back isn't even towards them.  Such is his
life; always too warm in the summer, never warm enough the rest of the
year.  The combination of the seemingly endless snow falling outside and
the new girl beside him make Neville think back a few days to when he first
met the girl.

`Why,' he thinks, `why do the new kids sit beside me?  Please don't comment
that I'm wearing the same too-big orange long sleeve t-shirt that you can't
possibly miss and the same jeans as I wore that day.  In fact, please don't
recognize the fact.  Better yet, please, please, please don't recognize me
at all.'

>>).:.(<<

It's a week earlier.  The snow is flying and the last scheduled tournament
game for the day at Simmons Sports Arena is underway.  Downstairs in the
underbelly of the arena Neville sneaks into one of the locked change rooms
and checks the door.  He turns the deadbolt from the inside to make sure no
one can walk in.

Davis is the name of the maintenance guy at the arena that knows Neville
lives within one of its hidden and forgotten areas.  Neville doesn't even
know if Davis is the guy's first name or last, but the man is kind enough
to allow him a place to live.  Davis also secretly lives in cramped
quarters within the arena himself, only his rooms are set up to be living
quarters.  Part of Neville's unspoken agreement with Davis is that he can
shower and do his laundry in the gang showers of the change rooms after the
arena's doors are locked, but in return he is to clean up the change rooms
first and get them ready for the next day.

Before he ever showers he first sets about picking up balls of stick and
sock tape, broken sticks, discarded clothing and equipment, candy wrappers,
beverage containers, paper towel, discarded chewing gum and whatever else
gets left in the dressing rooms.  He then has to clean the bathrooms and
showers in the dressing rooms and squeegee the floors.  He especially hates
having to wrap his hands in paper towel and fish chewing gum out of the
urinals.  It makes him desire men slightly less when he has to do this or
hose down spit and phlegm off the walls and floor and anything worse that
sick people do.  He does however love when guys his age forget clothes or
equipment behind.

As per the rules of unspoken agreements, Davis has in a round-about way
told him to be quicker about it in the past and that the garbage bags are
to be placed by the Zamboni entrance, and lost and found items are to be
left in a small room behind the front desk and tuck shop.  Further, he is
to never enter the dressing rooms during the arena's hours of operation
whether they are in use or not, and most definitely to never steal anything
from the players.  To date Davis has probably heard complaints about things
going missing, but never said anything.

Neville is careful in this regard.  First of all he doesn't have a key to
any of the change rooms, so once a team locks it behind them it should be
secure.  At least that's the theory.  By chance one afternoon a year ago
Neville heard some voices he recognised.  While he was trying to spy on
some schoolmates in dressing room 3, which has unofficially been claimed by
his high school hockey team as theirs, he discovered a way into it.

Rooms 3 and 4 are for hockey teams.  Rooms 1 and 2 are smaller and for
figure skating, with an open area between them for people to lace up for
public skating.  On the other side of the building, between dressing rooms
3 and 4 is a maintenance room.  It is from this maintenance room that
Neville sneaks into the hockey dressing rooms while the players are out on
the ice by popping out a grate on each side of the wall.  The square grates
are two feet high by two feet wide, about a foot above ground level and
once were part of an archaic heating and return air system.

In the lifetime of the arena, before renovations, there used to be three
change rooms on each side of it under the seating.  What is now the
maintenance room between the newer and larger dressing rooms 3 and 4 is
divided into two areas.  The front part of the room is storage for
everything from spare tires for the Zamboni to broken seats, old hockey
nets, and even a broken pop vending machine.  Behind that a small space
opens off of it that has a still working sink and un-enclosed toilet on one
wall with a single person shower stall opposite them.  The unusable shower
stall has cracked and missing tiles, the water taps are removed, and the
floor drain is capped.

The one time shower stall is now lined with layers of shredded old
newspapers and stolen towels and whatever else can be found.  This nest is
Neville's bed.  A puffy kids winter jacket that was left behind serves as
his pillow, more towels serve as his blanket.

Being gay, Neville can't fight off the urge to sometimes lurk in the front
part of the room and pop off one grate in order to sneak into the cavity in
the wall and watch guys change.  He knows the guys from school quite well,
who's packing, who strips completely, who he'd like to do, who he'd like to
do him.  His former friend Josh who's on the senior hockey team this year
always factors high on that list.  He also enters the rooms when the guys
leave them locked behind themselves and explores what they leave behind,
helping himself to basic items he needs.

He's quite certain Davis doesn't know how he gets about.  More than once
Neville has listened with his heart pounding as people suspect his method
and even try to remove these grates to test their theory.  One time a
couple men figured the grates out, but once they got a peek into the
cluttered storage space they soon gave up on the mystery, and Neville never
heard about it second hand from Davis.

So just at the moment, a week before sitting beside new students Bailey and
Megan and having snuck into dressing room 4, a shower isn't what Neville is
after.  He'll have one after both the teams that are currently playing and
the people involved in the tournament clear out for the day.  Currently
what he is in the room for is money.  Quick as can be Neville shakes the
coats, jeans, and other pants hanging off the hooks first.  These kids are
younger Neville noticed when he watched the bantam team change, either 13
or 14.  Old enough to have money in their pockets, but also old enough to
have the sense to put their belongings back into their hockey bags.

The few garments hanging bear nothing.  Neville starts carefully with the
hockey bags.  The first has loose change in the jeans pockets.  He takes
two dimes out of more than a dollar.  Neville's figured out a system; a
little here, a little there and no one questions.  Completely empty a
pocket and it causes a stink.  The next bag is a bust.  By the time Neville
is halfway around the locker room he has just over 2 dollars.

Yes he needs money, and he knows it's theft but nowadays he rarely takes
more than he needs.  Just enough for his next meal and only in dire
circumstances will he go into a wallet.  He does like going through the
wallets though, just for fun to see what his classmates and occasional cute
boys keep in them.

His bigger crime today is the other theft.  Along with the spare change he
also swipes a fresh pair of boxers some boy folded up and probably was
going to change into after the game from one bag, a large t-shirt with a
simple Nike logo on it from another, and from a third bag he takes a mesh
shower bag with deodorant, shampoo, soap and a shower sponge that is in way
better condition than his.

Judging by the pounding going on above him by family and friends in the
stands the game is pretty intense.  That sometimes means a kid is getting
kicked out or is hurt, either way thereby returning to the dressing room.
Neville takes his cue to leave, just in case.  He unlocks the deadbolt and
retreats through the vents and turns off the lights to the maintenance room
and the washroom area he considers to be his bedroom.

He holds the shirt and boxers to his face once he's back in his bed.  The
scent overwhelms him.  One is definitely the same laundry detergent his
mother used.  Getting back up and navigating in the dark he stops at a
stack of Zamboni tires and tosses both garments in the open centre of the
stack, onto a pile of other underwear, socks, brand new shower sandals,
jeans, and shirts he's managed to steal over the Christmas holidays.  The
other stack of tires holds some clothes he's appropriated off of locals.

With a tournament in town and teams from all over the country playing in it
he's done very well pilfering a new wardrobe.  He currently has a change of
shirts for every day of the week, always layering two over a `wife beater'
undershirt to combat the cold, and 6 pairs of jeans in rotation.  Stealing
off of out-of-towners gives him clothes he can start wearing almost
immediately.  He could use some new undershirts, and still needs more pants
his size to use right away as hang drying in the winter can take upwards of
4 days to dry alone.

That and normally he holds off wearing something for a few months at least
once he steals it off of someone local just in case that someone recognises
it.  This has happened, but he's never really been full-on accused to his
face yet.  Rumour and gossip about him stealing clothes won't go away, but
he won't wear something right away regardless.  Even then, he tries to make
sure not to steal from anyone he's in daily contact with.

Except for Brian and Josh that is.  Small for his age, Brian has parents
that are doing well financially to Neville's understanding.  Under layers
of clothes, Neville is roughly the same waist size as Brian, but he tries
to limit what he takes from him.  Josh was an unknowing donor before the
two were ever friends, and the only one to know for sure.  When Josh
noticed his missing brand new hat on Neville one day, months after it
disappeared, he was so surprised that he spoke before he thought it
through.  Rather than simply deny Josh's accusation or brush it off as
coincidence, Neville punched him in the face and fled his house.

Once the game ends and the losing team returns, Neville again spies on the
boys he's stolen from to curb his curiosity.  As they shower and dress he
hears the complaints about a missing shirt.  That was a boneheaded move; he
didn't realise the kid wasn't wearing a shirt under his equipment.  Oh
well, too late now.  The boxers go untold, but Neville gets a kick out of
watching the boy look around and suspect his teammates.  The shower bag
also gets mentioned and then another kid says his wallet has been emptied.
Neville never touched a single wallet, but sees this a lot; kids jumping on
the bandwagon and adding fictitious items to the theft list.

After the team has cleared Neville waits almost an hour before he bathes.
He'll clean the rooms later; he has a few needs to tend to before that.
First he wants to clean himself up and get as presentable as possible, and
then he wants to get something to eat.

He particularly likes the scent of soap that is in the shower sponge he now
owns, picturing the previous owner naked and rubbing it all over himself.
In fact Neville would definitely get down on his knees for that particular
kid.  He was the goalie that let in the winning goal; maybe Neville could
take his mind off it for a few minutes.  This thought brings him to laugh
out loud at himself and also causes a flow of blood to his penis.

Used to getting only 15 seconds of water at a time and having to press the
water button numerous times while doing his laundry and showering, Neville
rarely dawdles.  He also rarely jerks off in the shower because after the
fourth or fifth press on the water button it often gets too hot or too cold
to endure.  Today is different; he's feeling great because he has money to
spend on food at a new diner that just opened, and the sullen boy he spied
on definitely aroused him.  Crouching against the cleanest part of the
walls he gets to work.  After an explosive orgasm Neville faints.  This
isn't new to him.  Being malnourished the flow of blood elsewhere for too
long often causes him to black out, and that's why he doesn't do it
standing up.

Fainting can't break his good mood though.  Showered and dry, now that he
has new reserve clothes that he can start wearing in a few days once the
tournament is over and the teams leave town, he dresses in clothes that he
absconded back when the hockey season started up for the year.  He even
tries to cut his curly sand hair with the scissors of his Swiss-army pocket
knife and make it look presentable.

Engraved with his birth-name initials, the pocket knife is the only thing
he still has from his previous life.  It was a combined gift on his
thirteenth birthday from his younger sister Julie and younger brother
Trevor.  He thinks of them as he trims his hair, it seems like so long ago
now.  It also seems like years to him since he has sat down and eaten a
meal in a proper restaurant.  Nothing is going to get him down today.  Over
and over again he tells himself today is going to be a good day.

He feels like he's going to faint again just from the exertion it takes
sneaking out of his hideaway in the arena and walking 7 blocks to a new
diner that amoung other things serves breakfast all day.  The cold doesn't
help either, now that he's outgrown last winter's stolen coat.  Still, his
spirit won't break.

Pancakes.  He wants the fluffy pillows of yumminess so bad he can taste
them as soon as he steps into the diner and closes the door behind him.

He quickly adds up the seats in the room.  13 of the 30 odd seats are
occupied.  Neville thinks that it must be nice that it's doing well for its
second day of business.  The thought is not spitefully either, but rather
genuine.  He loses himself in thought thinking how great life would be if
he could screw up the courage to ask if they need a dishwasher or cook or
someone to clean anything.  If he offered to work for food and they hired
him he'd be the best worker they ever had.

A girl approaches the front counter where the cash register is, ripping
Neville out of his pie-in-the-sky dream.

Suddenly not sure he has the nerve to eat by himself at a table and have
all eyes surreptitiously on him he asks, "How much for pancakes?  To go."

"4 for 3.99, 6 for 4.99."

He studied the handwritten menu posted in the window so many times
yesterday.  Pancakes weren't listed alone, but somehow, based on the price
combinations he figured he could get 3 for 1.50.  He has exactly 2.02 of
stolen change in his pockets, "Why so much?"

"That's the price," the girl says looking past him.  Her body language
clearly shows that she's already dismissed him.

He normally wouldn't press the issue but this is his only hope before he
has to break down and dumpster dive.  Man he hates to dumpster dive.  Half
the time the food he finds makes him ill even if it temporarily satisfies
the emptiness.  He's well aware that food shouldn't make you throw up or
give you cold sweats and the runs.  There is a shelter in town, but to eat
or sleep there he has to register as homeless, something he just won't do.

He was just so excited about the thought of warm comfort food for the first
time in weeks.  This place is new, they don't know him.  No harm, no foul
he thinks and presses on, "But is says two eggs, sausage and bacon are 4.99
add 3 pancakes and it's 6.49.  That's like 50 cents for each."

"That's for the special," she says, rolling not only her eyes but her head
at him.

Neville is not a fighter, again by this point he'd normally turn and walk
away.  But today his survival mechanism is kicking in.  His stomach needs
something else in it other than water and it won't let him just walk away,
"I'm not all that hungry and wouldn't want to waste.  Can I just get the
three pancakes for 1.50?"

The girl suddenly looks concerned.  The scrawny boy before her beneath a
couple too-big shirts doesn't even have a coat on.  It dawns on her that
Neville is older than his frame and bad haircut suggest, and is clearly
poor.

Neville sees this and presses his luck.  He dislikes pity more than he
dislikes being picked on, but his stomach is cramped.  He fishes out his
change, putting it on the counter.  He won't bring himself to say it's all
he has, "There's even enough for a tip.  I'd really just like three
pancakes to go if you could somehow maybe bend the rules.  I don't need
syrup or anything.  Not even a container.  You could just put them on a
paper towel or even in my hand."

Megan Flannigan, the girl at the counter, is conflicted between wanting to
help him out and weighing it against the trouble a stray like him might
cause.  Her parents taught her to be generous, but they also taught her not
to feed stray animals.  Once you do that very first time you become
responsible for them.  Does the same work with the poor, she wonders.

She thinks about the diner's owners; what would the Regan's want her to do
in this situation?  Will this boy be back every day begging?  Will he have
money the next time?  Will he become violent?  But he only wants three
pancakes and is planning to give her a 33 percent tip, for take-out no
less.  He has to be harmless.  Against her heart she nods her head in the
negative to the boy.

"Oh.  Sorry.  Thank you for your time.  Have a good day, Miss," Neville
says while turning to leave, forgetting his money on the counter.  It's
been so long since he ate that his stomach physically hurts.  Maybe he'll
brave the McDonalds and hopefully have a cheeseburger in hand before
someone there recognises him and realizes he's banned from the place.  Or
maybe he can bribe someone into going in for him.  Just then his stomach
cramps tighter and groans audibly.  Once again he feels faint and needs a
second before he can open the door.

Neville unconsciously places a hand on his complaining stomach as Brooke
Regan, the other serving girl on the floor, walks over.  She visually
counts out the change on the counter; money he clearly needs but is walking
away from.  Her gentle hand on his shoulder stops him.  She's shocked at
how frail and light he seems based on the minimal effort required on her
part, "Wait.  Four.  We can give you four.  Chocolate chip, blueberry, or
plain buttermilk?"

Smiling, Megan adds, "And milk or juice.  It's an off the menu special, two
dollars even.  Grab a seat and they'll be up in a few minutes."

Memorizing their nametags Neville thinks Brooke and Megan are truly angels.
It may be December 29th but they just made his Christmas, "Blueberry would
be amazing.  Thank you so much!"

[to be continued]