8. week

EIGHT

week

Tuesday, March 4th

It was weird. August and Morgan still sat with Isaiah and his group during lunch every now and then, but August would only talk to Isaiah when necessary. He really was leaving Isaiah alone, and Isaiah didn't exactly know how to feel about it.

On one hand, it lessened his nerves. On the other hand, it totally fucking spiked his nerves. Isaiah didn't know what he should've done; ignore his conflicting feelings or pay attention to them. Just not too much, because that's what got him into this situation in the first place.

Ashton had taken a liking to the two and added them to their group. Marcus still refused to sit with them, and it'd been a week since then. Isaiah hated stupid high school drama. It was always petty and unnecessary.

Which was why he approached Marcus during lunch to try and resolve it. The few Marcus was talking to quieted and gave Isaiah expecting looks, and the amount of eyes just scrutinizing him submerged him into a pool of anxiety.

Isaiah cleared his throat. "Marcus, can I talk to you about something?"

Marcus shrugged. "Sure," he said, but didn't move. Isaiah sighed.

"Alone?"

Snickers erupted from those sitting at the table, and Isaiah felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. Why were they laughing? Isaiah shifted from foot to foot, hands in his pockets and playing with the wires of his headphones. They were all glancing at him now except for a select few, who didn't give a shit. Isaiah wished that was everyone.

When Marcus didn't respond, Isaiah stayed put and tried to keep his stoic face. Embrace your inner Steve, he thought to himself. "Fine," Isaiah mumbled. "Why aren't you sitting with us anymore?"

Marcus was about to say something, but some random guy next to him spoke up instead. He was a ginger with a face full of freckles and round glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. "Why do you care?" he asked, leaning forward. He jerked his chin at Isaiah's table. "You've already replaced him."

Isaiah blinked once, twice. "What?" He turned to look at Marcus. "You don't actually think that, do you?"

Marcus glanced down at his tray and picked at the corner of it, tearing off pieces of styrofoam. He didn't reply. Isaiah scowled. "There's always a place for you," he stated. "So when you want to get away from a bunch of assholes, we're here."

Isaiah watched Marcus stay silent, which had his frown deepening. He always had an opinion on something, so why wasn't he talking? The ginger nudged Marcus, whispered something to him, and Marcus just shook his head.

"Fine, I'll tell him then," the ginger said.

Marcus brought his hand down against the guy's arm with a deep frown. "Don't," he hissed. "It's not even—"

Ginger ignored him. "He doesn't want to be around a queer," he told Isaiah, grinning.

Isaiah furrowed his brows, recalling Marcus' insistence that August was gay. "August isn't—"

"Not him," Ginger interrupted, letting out a laugh. "You."

Isaiah froze. He immediately looked to Marcus, who refused to meet Isaiah's eyes. He could feel his heart ramming against his ribcage, and his first thought was, how did he know? And then, I'm not, so why am I so terrified? His fingers curled into fists inside his pocket, and he glared at Marcus heatedly, trying to disguise his fear with annoyance. He didn't know if it was working.

"So this isn't about Steve telling you off," Isaiah commented slowly. "This is about me."

Marcus finally looked up and Isaiah didn't recognize him. He never got pissed at Isaiah, never told lies about him, never betrayed him like he was doing now. Isaiah bit the inside of his cheek to keep his tears back. Don't be weak, he advised himself.

"When you grow a pair of fucking balls," Isaiah began slowly, ignoring the whispers, "then you can talk to me, and we can sort this out like adults. Not children."

Isaiah turned and left before he could hear them say anything else. He dropped by his table and grabbed his bag, sliding it over one shoulder. Several questions poured out from the group, but he didn't answer and left the cafeteria. He went to the baseball field and climbed to the very top of the bleachers. Once he sat down, he hid his face against the back of his backpack and cried. He'd been struggling to hold it in that whole time.

Everything was going wrong. He lost the chance at a good friendship because of stupid feelings. He potentially lost his best friend because of a reason he didn't know of, not really. He lost his confidence. He'd lost everything. And all he knew how to do was cry.

"Isaiah?" He didn't look up, but he recognized the voice. Steve hurried up the steps and sat down next to him, arm reaching out to wrap around his shoulders. He tugged him into his side and removed his bag from his lap, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

"Hey." Ashton. "Hey, what happened?"

Isaiah finally lifted his head and blinked rapidly, making out the blurry figures of Steve, Ashton, Morgan, and even August. "He hates me," Isaiah blurted. "Marcus. He hates me. He—"

Morgan finished helping August up the stairs and made her way over to Isaiah, sitting down in front of him. She smiled lightly and knocked her knuckles gently against his leg. "Don't think about it right now," she advised. "Just focus on breathing instead."

"I am breathing," Isaiah hiccuped, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.

"Not correctly," August piped up. Isaiah sniffed and sent him a watery-eyed glare, one that just made August smile in amusement. Despite his annoyance, Isaiah felt relieved at August's genuine attempt to talk to him.

Isaiah tilted his head back and shut his eyes tightly, inhaling deeply through his nose. His breaths were shaky, and it hurt to breathe, phantom rocks lodged inside his throat. He hated that feeling. It always made him want to cry more. Made him feel like his throat would close up.

It took some time, but soon enough, Isaiah had calmed down. His heart was still beating a bit too fast, his eyes stung, and he felt weak. He wanted to sit there for the rest of the day and not move an inch. But he had to, because if he didn't, his mom would call the cops. Thirty minutes late or hours, she had no preference. It really depended on her mood.

Isaiah sighed deeply and tugged at his sleeves. "Thanks," he mumbled to the four of them. "I'm sorry."

Steve scowled. "Don't apologize for having feelings, dumbass."

"Valid ones," Morgan added. She exchanged a small smile with Steve when he glanced at her. He immediately averted his gaze back to Isaiah, a tinge of pink surfacing to his cheeks.

Isaiah sniffled, lightly tugging at his curls. "I haven't cried in so long."

August whistled. "Yikes. That's unhealthy," he replied. "Crying is good for you. Makes you live longer."

"That sounds awful," Steve said. His comment had everyone howling with laughter, and simply doing so made Isaiah's chest feel lighter. He curled his fingers into the hem of his shirt and leaned back, the fence burying itself against his shoulderblades. He smiled, but only for a moment, because the distant sound of the bell was heard to urge students to get to their sixth periods.

Ashton stood up in a rush. "Shit," he cursed, hopping over his friends' legs to get down. "I'm sorry, Isaiah. I'd stay, but Mrs. Johnson would actually kill me if I skipped again. She said she would call my mom, and no thanks."

"Understandable," Isaiah responded. "Bye. Don't die."

Ashton saluted him dramatically. "I won't! Feel better, bro. We got you."

Isaiah watched him go, and once he'd left, Morgan stood as well. "I have to go too," she told him sadly. "My physics grade is awful. I'll see you tomorrow, Isaiah. Steve. Bye." She turned to August last. "Are you gonna come with?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I'll be fine here. We have a substitute today, so the class will be a study hall." He made quotations with his fingers as he spoke the last two words, rolling his eyes.

Morgan nodded and ruffled his hair before leaving, only August and Steve left. Isaiah hunched over and rested his elbow on his knee, cheek against open palm. "Are you guys staying?"

"Yeah," Steve replied. "We don't do shit in Tech."

August bobbed his head in agreement. "It's basically a free period," he added. "We both have it. Except mine is fourth."

Isaiah nodded slowly in understanding, his free hand brushing up and down against his arm. It was quiet for a few moments, comfortably so, until Steve broke it with a question Isaiah wasn't fond of thinking about.

"What happened earlier?" he asked. "Between you and Marcus."

Instinctively, Isaiah's eyes moved to August. The blond was already looking at him, eyes softer in the sun, hair tucked behind his ears. Isaiah blinked once and averted his gaze, unable to tell if he was fine or uncomfortable with August knowing exactly what had happened.

"I can leave if you want," August suggested, already reaching for his bag. "If it'll make you feel better."

"No," Isaiah blurted without hesitation, giving himself his answer. "It's fine. I—I'm sorry."

August seemed to get the hint that he wasn't just apologizing for one thing, because his face softened, and his tone was gentle when he said, "It's okay. No worries." But Isaiah contained all the worries, so his response was fifty percent futile. Maybe a little more.

Isaiah rubbed at his nose. "H—he wouldn't even talk to me, not really. Some redhead did it all for him. And he was a fucking asshole. He said we replaced Marcus, when we didn't, we just—surprise—have other friends. An abstract concept, I know."

Steve snorted at his blatant sarcasm.

"And he said... he said that Marcus wouldn't sit with us because he didn't want to be around a—" Isaiah cut himself off, unable to let the word slip past his lips. He bit the inside of his cheek, letting his eyes fall to his feet. The word felt like poison on his tongue.

August leaned forward, one eyebrow raised in silent question. "Around a what?"

Isaiah shook his head. "I can't say it."

"You can. You just don't want to."

"I can't."

August sat back. "If you say so."

Isaiah rubbed at his jaw, anxiety in the pit of his stomach swirling into a tornado of wasps. He wanted to tell them, but at the same time he didn't. What if August disliked him because of the possibility he wasn't straight? He wasn't worried about Steve; he'd already reassured him a while ago. He just didn't realize he would need it.

What if I was? Isaiah asked himself, a question he seemed to have every day. Am I? If I wasn't, I wouldn't be getting so worked up, would I? Isaiah groaned out loud, garnering curious looks from the two that sat around him. Tons of people question their sexuality. It was normal. Right?

"Isaiah," Steve said, nudging at his ankle. "You okay?"

Isaiah sucked in a breath. Just rip it off like a bandaid. Who cares if August knows? If he hates him for it, then Isaiah will know he wouldn't be a good friend. He had to keep telling himself that to build up the courage to let one simple word out. He never realized how hard it would be.

"Isa—"

"He said he didn't want to be around a queer," Isaiah blurted out, feeling his heart begin to pound erratically once he said it. "He was talking about me. I—I don't know if he just made it up, or if he honestly thinks that. I don't even know what I believe."

It was quiet for a few seconds, a period of time that made Isaiah's anxiety worse. Until, "Well, at least you know he's not a true friend if he wouldn't accept you for you." August shrugged, looking nonchalant about the whole situation.

Steve nodded in agreement. "He's right."

Isaiah swallowed the lump in his throat, gripping at the edge of the bleachers. "I'm just scared. I don't want to lose my best friend, and I've been thinking about it way too much. What if I was? And people found out? I could be kicked off the team. All the scouts looking at me would turn me away, my teammates could hate me. Hell, even Coach. My parents." He could feel his breathing start to quicken again, felt those tears he could've sworn he ran out of.

He felt a hand over his own clenched one, and he made out August's blond hair through his blurred vision. "Hey," August whispered, eyes sympathetic, touch gentle. "You're a fucking kickass baseball player. If they look you over simply because of who you want to love, they're crazy. And I get it. Figuring yourself out is hard and stressful. Just know that, no matter what, you have a support system. You can get married now, too. And also, you're not alone. There are so many people your age—younger and older—that know exactly what you're going through. And don't worry about labels either; you love who you love."

After his speech, all Isaiah managed to get out was, "That's the most you've ever spoken to me."

August laughed. "I let my inner motivational speaker come out every now and then."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Your speeches have nothing on mine," he stated, a twinkle of amusement in his dark eyes. "I'm much better."

"Watch it, Romeo," August shot back, narrowing his eyes. "I see you pining after Morgan."

Steve's eyes widened, the amusement fading. "I—" For once, he was flustered, and it was a welcoming sight. Isaiah chuckled, his suspicions definitely confirmed now.

Isaiah smiled to himself and watched the two bicker back and forth. He felt some of the weight on his shoulders being lifted, and he could breathe a little easier now. All he needed was them to talk to. For now, at least. Until he figured everything out.

He had a feeling it'd be a long time before that ever happened.