State of Mind by Eliza

A Sec ond Chance

I climbed down the beaten stairs of the bus, the harsh petrol plummeting through my lungs. I spotted my group scattered across the half-broken benches outside the school gate. As Jack notices me, he shouts with as much enthusiasm as one can muster on a crisp, cold Monday morning.

“Harry, my guy, come to join us!” he gestured. My ears don’t take kindly to the jarring noise, the sound of my dad's words still ringing in them.

“What's up, big man?” I said, trying to inject a facade of energy into my words, if possible. The others greet me, and we fall into light banter. I zone out, for the most part, until I see him.

“Oi! Gay Boy!” I hurl, my words laced with sickly sweet venom. The others begin snickering behind me. “Are you crying? God, you're so pathetic,” I spit with a smirk. “Aww, are you going to go cry to your mummy?” My insult warped with fake sympathy. Laughter erupts behind me as Leo turns on his heels, escaping through the school gates, sorrowful tears thundering down his face. The part of myself that betrays me feels a tinge of guilt, but I quickly suppress it as I stumble into the school building, tuning out the chatter of the others.

Surprisingly, the day passes fairly quickly. I sleep through a majority of my classes, but I'm not really going to need science in the future. I'm gonna be a football player. Or, at least that's what my dad says - never mind, that doesn't matter. I continue my internal battle as I trudge out of the prison-esque school, relieved to finally go home and turn on Channel 4. Walking along the jagged pavement, I note how its cracks made it seem as though it had enough - I can relate.

Unintentionally, I spot Leo out of the corner of my eye. My heart skips a beat. I can’t help it. He’s leaning against the cracked brick wall, staring at nothing in particular.

“Hey, Gay Boy, waiting for your boyfriend?” I teased before I could stop myself. Habit.

“I don't have a boyfriend.” he practically spat, the hurt in his voice evident.

“I know, I'm just reminding you.” Sarcasm infiltrated my words.

The impatient sound of a car horn goes off in the distance and I look away, not waiting for his reaction. It was my dad's car. A polished black Cadillac Cimarron with a custom interior. Who knew such a fancy car could hold so many potent memories? I held my breath, opened the side door, and slipped in. As my dad drove away from school, I noted his tight grip on the steering wheel; almost suffocating it. He’s tense; not unusual for him.

“Why were you speaking to him?” he demands with a dangerous tone lingering in his voice.

“I was just teasing him, Dad,” I reply in a timid fashion, my voice withering.

“You know not to speak to his type, he's a wrong-un.” His voice was shaking with rage.

“I know, I’m sorry Dad,” I said just above a whisper.

“I did not raise my son to be gay! Never speak to him again. It’s like you are trying to destroy your perfect reputation. Do you even know how hard I worked for that? You’re so worthless! Why can't you just be like your brother?” he roared. A cold shiver snaked its way down my back.

The rest of the car ride was silent, me not daring to speak as fear rattled through my body. When we pulled into the spotless drive, I walked into the house, took off my shoes to maintain some form of dignity, and sprinted up the polished stairs. In my room, I flopped onto the comforting familiarity of my bed. I lay there, my eyes burning a hole into the wall as if it had personally offended me, replaying my dad's words in my head. He didn't mean it right? I wasn't ruining his reputation, was I? My breath was picking up. He loves me. I’m not worthless, right? My breath went quicker. He can’t mean what he said; I understand Leo’s gay, which is wrong, of course, but that’s going too far. I'm rocking back and forth. “He cares about me,” I say. “He cares about me. He cares about me. He cares about me.” My voice rasps, my breathing calms, leaving me numb as uncontrollable tears stain my pillow. I sigh, trying desperately to drift into the unconsciousness of sleep. My dad's words haunt me: ‘You're worthless.’

Morning called me with the screeching of my alarm, forcing my body to move. The sickly sweet smell of pancakes wafts through my nose. Well, that properly woke me up. I had fallen asleep without dinner last night, again. I looked at my warm bed calling me to hide in the safety of the sheets, but my stomach grumbled in protest. I threw some clean clothes on and, with caution, trudge downstairs, praying my dad has already left for work. To my dismay, my dad is in the kitchen with an unfamiliar song playing in the background. Wait…hold on, my dad is cooking breakfast? That's my mum’s job.

“Where’s Mum?” I call out, my voice still scratchy from yesterday. He turns around a warm smile greeting me, “She’s gone to work kid. I'm making pancakes, if you want one,” he said, words filled with genuine love.

“Work?” confusion was clearly showing through my words.

“Yeah, she got a new job, do you not remember?” Concern was plastered on his face.

“Yeah, of course, sorry.” I did, in fact, not remember. Since when did Mum work?

I finished up breakfast as fast as I could, already wanting this day to be over. I hopped in the neat black car and my dad turned on the radio but instead of the usual pop songs, a song I couldn't recognise played. I loved it but why had my dad not turned it off? Surely, he would curse out the radio for daring to play that genre of music by now.

What a weird day, I thought. He pulled up to the school, and I clambered out of the posh car, about to go find my friends when my dad called out:

“Love ya kid. Have a good day!” He was wearing a smile that actually reached his eyes.

“Right. Yeah, you too,” I forced out. My mind was spinning. What was it with this day? It was like some sick fever dream. I slammed the car door with more strength than intended. I concentrated on walking to our regular meeting spot on the bench, the chatter of children surrounding me as if it were trying to suffocate me.

As I spotted my friends, I felt relief flooding my body. I couldn't see Max. He must be sick. Instead, a girl sat on the bench, laughing and joking around. That's odd, when did our group allow girls? I walked up to her.