Date: Wed, 29 Mar 2006 11:29:05 -0500
From: mymouthtrain@gmail.com
Subject: Yearbook Pictures 03

Legal stuff: You ain't old enough, don't read it.  You ain't mature enough,
still don't read it.  You lookin' for a quick wank, look elsewhere.  There
WILL be sex in this story, and it WILL be graphic, but it'll come with time
and exist for plot progression and not gratuitous, so bear with me.

Given to Nifty for archive; if anyone else wants to post this somewhere,
ask first thanks.  Email is mymouthtrain@gmail.com.


Yearbook Pictures | 03

The next day in art class, the specifics of the new project became
apparent.  It was a partnered project, I found out as some dude who I had
previously paid no attention to before slid into a seat across from me at
the giant table I usually shared with no one.  He didn't say anything right
away, and as I blinked at him, I took in his appearance.

There aren't a lot of longhaired kids in my school, let alone in my grade.
In fact, I had originally thought I was the only one.  But here sat this
guy with long, fine hair the color of wheat.  It spilled loosely down to
his shoulders on one side and looked like it had to be silky to the touch.
My own hair was darker, thicker and more wavy.  His hair had the look of
some supermodel's.  I couldn't believe I had never noticed him before.

He was handsome, but I couldn't decide if it was the hair that made him
that way.  His face was fairly average, but I decided then and there that I
loved his nose.  It was amazing, slightly crooked, but sculpted and fit him
perfectly.  His eyes looked dark and his mouth was made to order for the
nose, and the combination had my tongue sticking to the roof of my own
mouth.  From what I could see of his body, he looked thin yet lightly
defined, like the muscle came sort of natural to him.  His forearms, the
only bits of his body that weren't wrapped in clothing, were shaped
beautifully, all softly curving muscle covered by peach-toned skin and
blond arm fuzz, remnants of a fading summer tan.

"Thurston Roan," he said.  I nodded, though he hadn't made a question out
of it.  "I'm Simon Bedford, your project partner.  I say this only because
I know you wouldn't have a clue otherwise."  I blinked at him in surprise.
I felt offended, but what he was saying WAS true, so I couldn't dispute his
claim.

He slapped a single sheet of white paper on the tabletop, not bothering to
slide it my way.  Tentatively, I reached for it as he said, "Our project is
circled in red.  I took the liberty of choosing for us."

Picking up the paper, I scanned over it.  The sheet had four or five other
choices on it, but the bottom one was circled with red marker.  It was
titled, 'Yearbook Pictures.'

"'This is a four photograph assignment,"' I read aloud, flicking my gaze up
to Simon as he nodded slightly.  "'Take four, no more or less, photos of
your subject as they represent themselves in school.  One must be a mock
yearbook photo, while the other three can be casual.  Additional, a short
100-word, maximum, essay must be written about the subject to supplement
the pictures.  It should be more like 'A Day In The Life...' than a life's
work essay.'"  I looked back up at Simon, who had been sitting stoically,
almost disdainfully, across from me.  It didn't bother me because it was
the same generalized attitude I got from most of the students.  "Sounds
okay to me."

"It wouldn't matter if it did or not, because I've already completed my
half of the assignment, and I'm not redoing it just because you might not
be into it."

I blinked.  "You're already done?  How?"

His lips parted into a slight smile, one I didn't think I liked all too
well.  "Did it last night after school.  It was exceptionally easy."

My gaze dropped back to the sheet in confusion, rescanning the project
summary.  "But it says you have to take pictures of ME, how did you do that
last night?"  I was certain I had never seen this boy before in my life.

He made a scoffing sound with his throat.  "Wanna see?"  And with that, he
pulled out a folded piece of photo-quality printer paper.  Unfolding it, I
realized that he had creased it like it were two pages of our actual
yearbook.  He even had the logo spot on, and I could tell it was
hand-drawn.

He laid the paper flat on the table, and tentatively, I slide it toward me
as well.  At first I couldn't make out what I was seeing.

"The photos are of an empty chair... a locker... an empty seat on the
bleachers... and an empty hallway.  None of these are of me."

If anything, Simon's grin got wider.  "Read the essay."

I glanced back down.  That was easy enough, it only consisted of three
words.  I read them once, and over again, and the hot realization dawned on
me.  They read:

"Thurston isn't here."

|to be continued|
|sorry for the short chapter. Thanks for the response so far.|