12. i have one leg, not arthritis

TWELVE

i have one leg, not arthritis

Saturday, March 15th

Isaiah was bad at lying, so he managed to admit to himself that he didn't watch the movie, but watched August instead. And all August said at the end of it was: "See? Not that scary."

And all Isaiah could think was: I don't even know the name of the main character. But he forced a smile and said, "Not scary."

August grinned and stood up, Isaiah trailing behind him, mind reeling. I'm so fucked. He'd never had a crush before, so what the fuck was he supposed to do with this newfound knowledge? Knowledge he didn't want. Not one bit. He wished he'd had crushes on people before, because maybe it'd be easier than it was now.

Was this how Steve felt? Confused, flustered, and lost? Because that's how Isaiah felt. And the fact that he could smell August's cologne the whole time made it so much worse. He smelled good, too. It wasn't fair. Did he have a single unlikeable quality? Or was he just that perfect?

His mind drifted to when they first met. No, he thought in distaste. Not perfect. His attitude had been awful. He wondered what made it change toward him. The hopeful side of his mind hoped that maybe, he liked him too. And then the pessimistic side of him said, shut up. He's just being nice. He sees you as a friend.

He released a quiet, frustrated sigh. For a brief moment he wished he never met August. Until the blond turned around and shoved him in the arm, an eyebrow raised. "Liar. It was scary, huh? You look pale."

The only thing he could get out was, "I'm black." August snorted loudly, snickering to himself. Isaiah felt his cheeks warm up.

"You can still look a little pale," August teased, then reached out to pinch Isaiah's cheek. An action that caused his whole body to flame up, and he couldn't decide what he wanted to do more: hide or lean into his touch.

He didn't do either. Instead, he stood there like an idiot, with his lips parted and his eyes wide. "Right," he choked out. August gave him a concerned look.

"Dude, are you sick or something?" Isaiah didn't know being called dude could hurt that much. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He cleared his throat. "No." Then quickly backtracked. "Wait. Yes. A cold."

August's face was neutral. Isaiah couldn't tell if he believed him or not. He took it as a good sign when he said, "Why'd you come out then? If you feel bad."

Isaiah shrugged. "I wanted to hang out with you guys."

"Ashton said you used to never go out with them," August stated after a few moments of silence. "Why?"

"Uh, baseball. And just school in general," Isaiah admitted, shrugging again. He did that, it seemed, when he was nervous. "That stuff."

August was staring at him, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. Isaiah shifted under his heavy stare. Why did he look so serious? Had he said something wrong? He hoped not.

"You know you're allowed to take breaks now and then, right?" August asked, holding his hand out to gesture around them. "Like now. The world isn't going to leave you behind."

Isaiah looked down at his shoes. "I know that. I just feel like..." he trailed off with a sigh.

August walked closer to him and gently kicked at the tip of his shoe with his good-enough-leg. "Like if you relax for one second, all your hard work will disappear?" he asked softly, and Isaiah had a feeling he knew exactly how he felt. He glanced down at his leg. He definitely knew.

"Yeah."

August smiled weakly, the light not reaching his eyes like it usually did. "I understand that," he said, gaze flicking down before averting back to Isaiah. "It's not the end of the world, even if it feels like it."

Isaiah frowned. "August, what happened to—"

"There they are!"

Isaiah blinked and turned around, watching as Ashton jogged over to them, Steve and Morgan shuffling along behind him side-by-side. Ashton grinned when he reached them. "You guys missed so much!"

August chuckled, the sound making Isaiah flinch. He'd looked so defeated before.

"Isaiah!" Ashton interrupted, slugging him in the shoulder. "Where were you guys?"

"I forced him to watch the rest of a horror movie with me," August explained. "I can now say he is no longer a pussy."

"Oh my God," Morgan groaned. "Stop saying that."

"Pussy, pussy, pussy," August chanted, shuffling over to her and jabbing his fingers against her sides. She let out an embarrassing shriek, stumbling away from August's hands. Isaiah couldn't help but smile.

A hand touched his shoulder. "Hey," Steve said. "The movie was bad. As expected."

Isaiah chuckled. "Yeah, I bet." He couldn't keep his eyes from straying over to August, who continued to tease Morgan, but had quit trying to tickle her. She was glaring at him, her bottom lip jutted out into a pout. Isaiah bit the inside of his cheek.

"You don't like Morgan, do you?" Steve asked seriously, and Isaiah whipped his head around to look at him. He looked sad at the thought, and Isaiah wanted to hug him and protect him from the world.

Isaiah shook his head quickly. "God, no. I mean, she's pretty, but no." He stopped, tapping his finger against his jaw. "I don't. Like her, I mean."

"Okay," he said. He glanced over at her and August for a moment, then turned back to Isaiah. "Do you like August?"

If Isaiah was drinking something, he would've spat it out. "No!" he blurted, eyes wide. He shook his head furiously. "No, I don't. Why would you—"

Steve raised an eyebrow. Isaiah pursed his lips. "You know, it's okay if you do."

"I don't!" Isaiah complained. "I don't, I'm not—" He lowered his voice. "—gay."

"You don't have to be gay to like a guy," Steve pointed out. Isaiah knew that. He wasn't stupid. He'd panicked and it was all he could think of. Steve definitely didn't believe him; there was no way. He got so defensive. "There's nothing wrong with it."

When Isaiah stayed silent, Steve sighed softly. "You know we're okay with it, right? We told you that."

"I'm not though. I don't like him."

"Okay."

"Okay," Isaiah echoed. He pressed the back of his hand against his cheek, inwardly scowling at the heat coming from it. He turned away from Steve and shoved his hands inside his pockets, fingers running along the metal of his keys.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to lay down and just sleep for as long as his body would let him. He was tired, he was annoyed, and he was confused. Please stop talking and let's go. Please. You can talk in the car.

Isaiah didn't have the guts to tell them to hurry up. So, when his friends finally stopped messing around and walked out to the parking lot, Isaiah was relieved. Steve, Ashton, and Morgan talked about the movie, and Isaiah stayed quiet. August was silent, too. At a red light, he looked through the rearview mirror just as August lifted his gaze and met his. Isaiah immediately looked away.

"Eyes on the road," August joked. "Don't worry, no monsters back here."

"Shut up," Isaiah grumbled. August snickered quietly.

Isaiah dropped Ashton off first, then Morgan. Now he was on his way to Steve's, because it was closer, and he wished it wasn't. He didn't want to be alone with August again, because he knew he'd make it awkward. He always did. It was the only thing he was good at, other than baseball.

His fingers flexed against the wheel. Speaking of baseball, he really needed to hit something.

The car ride was silent on the way to Steve's, and when Isaiah arrived, he kind of wanted to stall. But he knew Steve had a project to finish, and he was sure August's parents wanted him home. So, he said goodbye, watched him enter his house, and then took off.

Isaiah instantly felt the tension. He knew it was only coming from him, because hell, August was probably oblivious to Isaiah's inner turmoil. He couldn't tell if he preferred that or not.

A few minutes later, they were stuck in traffic. Isaiah felt obligated to talk, but he didn't know what to say. Did he even want to say anything? He tightened his grip on the wheel. He did, he wanted to talk to August. But he also wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

"Hey," said August, leaning forward slightly. He braced his arms against both seats. If Isaiah leaned all the way back, August's elbow would graze his neck. He struggled to ignore the butterflies that were set free inside his stomach at the thought. "You can still take me, right? To my appointment tomorrow."

"Yeah."

August flicked his earlobe, causing Isaiah to flinch. "What the fuck?"

"You're acting weird again."

"Weird—what? No, I'm not."

"You are," August insisted, leaning his cheek against one of his arms. "You were doing just fine earlier. And then we got into the car and now you're acting like I'm a fucking criminal."

"I'm not."

"I'm not," August echoed mockingly, slumping back into his seat. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, hair falling in front of his eyes. "Dude, fucking tell me what I did wrong. This has happened so much. It's getting annoying."

There's that attitude from the beginning, Isaiah thought, amused. "You didn't do anything."

August scoffed. "Bullshit. Apparently I did, because you're treating me like I have the Cheese Touch."

"I'm not."

"For someone so obsessed with his grades, you have a very limited vocabulary."

Isaiah sighed. "Just leave it alone."

"I'm not gonna leave it alone!" August exclaimed, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "Just tell me. I want to be your friend. Let me fucking be your friend."

"Is this how you befriended Morgan?"

August narrowed his eyes. "No, because she didn't treat me like a fucking villain."

Isaiah kept his gaze forward. "It's none of your business."

"It obviously is my fucking business," August snapped. "If it's affecting me, then it is."

"It's not about you, it's about me."

August let out a bitter laugh and crossed his arms. He stared out the window with a deep frown. "You know what, forget about taking me tomorrow. I'll find another way there."

"What, you're gonna walk?" Isaiah asked, turning down August's street. They'd managed to get out of the traffic faster than he thought they would. He was beyond relieved.

"If I have to, then yes."

"You said you couldn't put strain on it. You're gonna get hurt."

"It always hurts," August muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt when he noticed they were approaching his house. "Besides, nothing will hurt more than when they—" He stopped. Isaiah glanced at him through the mirror, frowning.

"When they...?"

"Don't," August said. He looked up and met Isaiah's gaze head on, seafoam eyes looking darker. "It's none of your business."

Isaiah winced, averting his eyes back to his hands that were sitting on the wheel. He stopped outside August's house and put the car in park, and almost immediately, the blond was shoving the door open to get out. In his rush, he ended up stumbling, and he let out a muffled curse.

Isaiah sat up and looked over, worry building up inside him. "Do you need help?"

"I'm fine, fuck off. I have one leg and one prosthesis, not arthritis."

"August, I'm sorry."

"Forget it," August replied, tone laced with irritation. "I'm used to it."

As August walked away and limped up his front steps, all Isaiah could think was: used to what, exactly?

___

question: are you a makeup person?