Grade one can be a hard time in your life.

Of course, you’re thinking that there’s no way it can possibly be hard. You’re six years old, you have no troubles, no work, and no knowledge of war, fear or disease. Your biggest problem is the kid at school that won’t stop tripping you. By your perspective of course, this is the worst problem in the world. Things are so simple when you’re young.

Being the new kid is certainly never easy either. By now, friendships have been established since kindergarten and feeble memories of good times have already been formed. It’s a lot like high school, but on a lesser level: No one wants the gangly new kid hanging out with them; little kids are often afraid of irregularity.

So when Coy Russel stepped into Mrs. Stacey’s first grade class one day in April, he got more than his share of stares. He had his head hung, feathery brown hair drooping over his eyes, not meeting any of their looks. The teacher introduced him to everyone and forced them to say hello, which most of them did with little enthusiasm. By the end of the day, he’d gotten set up with his cubby and such, but no one had spoken to him except for an annoying girl with bright red pigtails … even that was only to asked why he was such a ‘big kid’

The next day however, he overheard one boy talking to a girl and looking at him discreetly (well, as discreet as a six year old can be.) The boy seemed nice enough … he had bright blonde hair and what had to be the most exuberant green eyes on earth. What was not to like? The girl on the other hand, gave off a very cold aura.

“Whadda ya think?” the blonde boy asked her.

“Him? But he’s really tall … what if he steps on us?”

“Don’t be mean! Look, he’s alone!”

“Well … um … fine, but I’m not talking."

“Fine!” the boy replied with a tone of finality and much to Coy’s horror, began walking over to him. He turned back to the puzzle he was working on, worried that the boy would make fun of him, or be mean. He was young, but he knew what pity was and he knew he didn't like it.

“Hello!” the blonde boy reached the table he was sitting at and put a hand on the back of his bright blue plastic chair. He was smiling down at him ecstatically, and Coy was forced to look at him and give a weak smile. The boy pointed to himself. “I’m Keith Lindé Michael Carnovale! What’s your name?”

Coy just blinked up at him like an owl for a moment. He could barely remember his own middle name, but this Keith boy seemed to have his down pat.

“Um … Coy Russel." he said hesitantly.

“Are you alone?” Keith asked happily and sat down next to him.

Coy nodded.

“Really? Well you can play with me and Kyra then!” he turned around and waved the girl he’d been talking to over. She stood next to Keith and crossed her arms. “Kyra, this is Coy Russel!” he introduced them.

The ‘Kyra’ girl swung her hair over her shoulder and stared at him. “Your name is Coy? What type of a name is that? Koi are fish. It’s not a name, it's stupid."

“Uhh … I guess so …” he replied, frightened.

“And your eyes are funny looking." she continued.

Keith grinned. “That’s mean, Kyra! His name is cool!” he leaned toward Coy, leaving only inches between their faces. “I like your eyes! I’ve never seen eyes like this!”

Coy wasn’t used to such close proximity and tumbled backwards out of the chair he was sitting in. Keith grinned again (he seemed to do that a lot) and held out a hand to help him up. When Coy took it and stood, he realized he was at least a full head taller than him.

“You’re our friend now, ‘kay?” he said in an animated tone.

“Um … okay." he agreed with a small smile as he was tugged by his wrist towards the building blocks.

xxxxxxxxxx

Neither of them knew at the time, but their friendship didn’t end that year. Or the next. Kyra moved away in the third grade, but the two boys stayed where they were. Until grade seven, stupid fads like Pokemon came and went, and the two of them jumped on every bandwagon that came their way like the naïve children they were. With Coy being tall and gangly and Keith being midgety and annoying, they weren’t exactly at the top of the food chain. They were looked down on by the athletic kids because they didn’t play sports, and the popular kids hated them because they didn’t dress well enough and they had stupid hair. Even the nerds didn’t like them because they didn’t have a PS2 and knew nothing about the ancient Aztecs.

Tired of being the loners, they asked Keith’s twenty year old brother, Brandon, about how to be cool, but he did nothing other than tell them to drink antifreeze. They called him a jackass as a retort and said he was ‘too lame to help anyways’ but they were still stuck. They had no idea how to really make people like them. If they did, then they wouldn’t be lame in the first place. In the end, they decided to walk around the mall for hours on end and basically watch the older kids. They sat outside the trendy teen stores that they wished they could go into in a makeshift fort with notebooks and fruit smoothies, watched all the fancy high school kids come and go. They made notes of what the people in groups were like, and what the one’s shopping with their moms were like.

By the end of two weeks, they made their decisions and one Sunday afternoon, they come home with boxes of hair dye, to start. Keith had always hated being a blonde, and forced Coy to dye his own hair too, so he didn’t feel alone. They sat in Coy’s bathroom when his mom was at work and dyed each other’s hair with the giddy happiness of change. When Ms. Russel came home from work that night, she screamed to see two boys with midnight black hair sitting on her couch watching cartoons. She threatened to make Coy wash his hair out instantly, but he said it was too late and it was permanent unless he shaved his head. He whimpered when she considered it. After yelling at her son for a good half hour, she turned to Keith, who was cowering next to Coy on the couch. She asked him what he would do when his parents got mad at him for doing this without permission. A sad look flitted across his face for a moment before he told Ms. Russel that they wouldn’t care.

At the time, the look on his friends face bothered him … Keith was always smiling, or laughing, or something, but now he looked so sad, even if it was only for a nano-second before he laughed at the TV. He’d asked about Keith’s family a million times over the years, but he always got distracted before he pried an answer out of him, so he’d learned not to ask. The only thing he knew was that his mother’s name was Claudia, because that’s what his older brother called her. Brandon had always came to parent-teacher interviews over the years and they always went to the Russel household after school: Coy had never set foot in Keith’s house.

This didn’t change over the years. Coy soon changed his hair color again, sticking to a shock red from grade nine to present. Keith’s hair stayed the same as when he was younger, sticking out in all directions, but he’d grown his bangs out so they hung in his face, swooping lower than most girl’s hair to mid-chest while the rest of his hair stayed spiky. Coy simply let his grow, and now his bangs hung over his eyes and the tips flipped at his shoulders with a tousled kind of charm.

Their seventh grade plan had actually worked, and by the time they got to high school in grade eight, they were pretty well known. Coy had somewhat grown into his ganglyness, and was a full six feet tall (tall enough to see over tall crowds, to leap buildings in a single bound, to stomp small children, if need be.) He honestly hadn’t gotten any more muscle or weight at all, and was not far away from being blown along the street in windy seasons. Still, it was nothing compared to Keith: he hadn’t grown an inch for at least two years. He was shorter, smaller, and more delicate than most tenth grade girls (hell, more than most eighth grade girls) Of course, being a guy nonetheless, it pissed him off to no end. Coy happily took advantage of his height-challenged ways, and made that extra effort to put books and other things just out of his reach, just to laugh when he tried to stand on tiptoe and still be discreet about it. On several occasions when Keith got lazy, or just bored, he’d whine and bitch until Coy carried him around in a piggyback. (It never lasted long, Coy dumped him after a few minutes.)

xxxxxxxxxx

At this moment, they were walking along the musty forest path they’d found in grade five that lead right to the high school and they’d been waiting ever since then to use it for walking to school. The first day they’d basically ran along it all giddy, but now they plodded along aimlessly. It was fairly wide, but every so often you might get hit in the face by a branch sticking into the path, or you’d trip over a root. These two, however, had been walking to school long enough to step over them (Well, I shouldn’t say that, Keith did when he was being stupid.)

“What is it with vultures …?”

xxx Coy’s POV xxx

“… Excuse me?” I reply in a dry tone. I’ve been walking behind him for the last few minutes in silence, then he comes up with that. I’ve gotta give him credit for the originality there.

“Well, I mean … what, you don’t think they’re freaky?” he’s staring up at the grey tones of sky with a puzzled look on his face after he ducks under a whippy-branch.

“Uh … yeah, they’re a little disturbing."

“A little? They’re BALD aren’t they?”

“I think so."

“And bald birds don’t creep you out?” he tilts his head back to look at me upside-down. He gets hit in the face with a branch, and I laugh.

“Big Bird from Sesame Street." I tell him.

He spins back around as we get to the end of the field, the school appearing tiny across it. It’s his turn to look at me like I’m a retard.

“Come again?” he raises an eyebrow.

“He’s scarier than any vulture I’ve seen." I say simply.

He laughs happily as we start walking across the field. Stupid dew from the grass soaks through one of the rips in the toe of this pair of boots, and I grimace. Wet feet for six hours … everyone's dream.

“You have your priorities fucked up, Coy."

Is it odd that even talking about Big Bird is getting me nervous? I keep looking over my shoulder. “So what do you have today?” I ask, even though I know.

“English, then Japanese. You?”

I sigh. “Socials, then Gym."

He grins that grin he always does … I’m not sure if I hate it or not. “Gym? You guys are doing dance, right?”

“Yesss …” I whine, and he just giggles again. We push through people at the front doors to get inside, and his hand instinctively snags on my backpack so he doesn’t get shoved. We stand at the junction between D hall and E hall, and he looks up me with a devilish smirk.

“I hope you have to dance with yiffie Dill again."

“Shut UP, that was horrible!” I blush, but that honestly isn’t much of a change, I’m always goddamn blushing … I should dye my hair again so I don’t blend into a red blob every fifteen minutes.

He waves over his shoulder as he heads off. “Have fun with your polka!”

I hurl my mitten at him.

It hits Mrs. Joyce in the back of the head, and I quickly apologize. I can hear Keith laugh over everyone else’s voices.

xxxxxxxxxx

Pen click on …

Pen click off …

Pen click on …

Pen click off … goddamn.

Oh that’s just magical … my clicky pen broke. That lasted about …. (I check my watch) Five minutes. Cheap junk … I didn’t even know 7-11 made pens. Now I have nothing to do.

I think we’re supposed to be doing country study project things … I look to my right and see Amanda, the frizzy little blonde girl that’s my partner for this thing. I swear the top of her head doesn’t even reach my elbow, she’s tiny, and I thought Keith was short. There’s honestly not much I can do right now anyways, she not smitten with me (i.e.: most of the girls our age, which kind of sucks) which I actually appreciate. Noticing my clumsiness, she’s just told me to sit here and not step on any of her papers. I think I’m doing my job well so far.

xxxxxxxxxx

As usual, it’s lunch and we have absolutely nothing to do, so we’ve resorted to walking in a circle. Our school is basically a square, so if you walk long enough you’ll end up where you started. Our record is fourteen laps, we’re at about nine now. We’re not talking about anything in particular, Lauren is normally the one that talks, and she’s out sick today, so we’re silent. Up until now.

Melissa walks (waddles) up to us. Melissa Hewitt is … hell In pink overalls. She’s in grade … well I don’t know what grade she’s in, actually. I haven’t thought to ask. She’s Keith’s height, but about double what he is in weight. To be honest, she’s a little on the eerie side. She always asks us these stupid questions, most of which are way too personal for my liking. On top of it all, she seems to think I’m going out with Keith, which is fucking hilarious. Whenever we reply to one of her questions with something that hints to it, she gets all grinning and happy, so we do it on purpose and make it seem like we are to get her worked up.

“Coy!” she walks (again, waddles) up to us and waves like we’ve known each other for all our lives. I narrow my eyes slightly and stop walking, moving off to the side to avoid getting hit by a group of girls. She follows, looking up at me expectantly. “You’re looking lovely today!”

I look down at myself: Black hoodie, Taking Back Sunday T-shirt, ripped jeans and soggy boots. Ooh, lovely.

“Thanks …” I reply quietly. “Do you have a point?”

She gives a nervous laugh. “What do you mean ‘a point’ I’m just asking …”

“You have more questions don’t you." Keith deadpans.

She gulps. “Maybe."

“Go ahead then, hurry up." he gives in and she smiles and bounces once, which isn’t a pretty sight.

“Okay okay thank you. Well, I really just have one, if you’d be so kind as to answer it, because I’m not the only one wondering …”

I look behind her to see three girls around the corner giggling in hushed voices looking at us.

“ … are you two going out?” she finishes. Keith snorts, I just raise my eyebrows.

“Why’re you asking … again?” I say, and she fidgets.

“Weellll … it kind of seems like you are. Just a little, I mean, you guys are always … are you?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Keith beats me to it: he inches closer and wraps both his arms around one of mine, nudging his head against my shoulder.

“Maybe." he grins a cheshire cat grin.

I think I blush again, against my will, because no one ever hugs me. Melissa narrows her eyes like a puma about to strike.

“’Maybe’ isn’t an answer."

“Maybe it is." Keith retorts like a child being denied candy.

“Don’t be difficult." Melissa says exasperatedly.

I stifle a smile and slide my arm out of Keith’s, moving it behind him and toying with one of his chokers. His now free hand starts rubbing up and down my side. We’re both fighting not to laugh, but Melissa, oblivious, doesn’t see this. Does she actually think we’re serious?!

“Uhh …” I think we’ve stopped her brain box. “… okay, th-thanks … “ and she runs to the corner where she laughs abashedly with her equally pudgy and pink friends.

At the time, we don’t realize how much we’ve just screwed ourselves.

xxxxxxxxxx

“That was fucking hilarious!! Did you see her face?!” It’s after school and we’re bouncing down the path back to our street. Keith leaps over a root happily.

“Yeah, she actually believed us too," I smile. “Then again, she’s pretty stupid as far as they go.” I pause. "Does it bother you that everyone thinks we're gay?"

He stops bouncing and walks normally beside me. He may be hyper, but he gets tired easily. "Meh," he shrugs. "Not really. It's kinda funny."

I don't respond. I disagree with him, but I don't want to start an argument. It's not that funny that everyone thinks we're gay.

“What would you have done if she’d asked you to kiss me?” he asks. There’s no hesitance in his voice, it’s as normal as if he’d asked what I had for dinner. When I really process what he's said, I jump.

“Um … I don’t know, I probably would have done it … Just to see what she'd do ... I wouldn’t have gotten off on it or anything though." I add the last part quickly. I don’t know why the fuck I’m so nervous now, I’m honestly not lying. Where is he going with this?

He nods. “Yeah I know, me neither. You’re my best friend and stuff, so it wouldn’t be too bad. Better than Dill. Or other guys."

I wait a moment before talking again. “What if you liked it?”

“I wouldn’t," he says in a tone that gives me no reason to question him, but I do. Why the hell would he ask me something like that in the first place? Just to stir up shit? He's so difficult.

“But what if you did?” I say, a hint of teasing in my voice.

“I wouldn’t."

“How do you know?”

It takes him several seconds to answer this time, which worries me into thinking that he’s mulling it over. There’s nothing to think about! Don't like it!

“D’you wanna try?” he mumbles.

My heart stops for a good four seconds, so I can’t be held responsible for what I say next. I will, for the rest of my life, blame it on cardiac arrest.

“Do you?”

“Do you?” he says back.

“Do you?”

“Do you?”

Instead of letting this go on forever (which it quite easily could) I do the slightly illogical, yet practical thing: I lean down and kiss him.

I just stop there, forcing my mouth on his. It’s not because I like him, because I honestly don’t. I’ve known him forever, if I did like him, I’d have done something about it by now. Probably. Sure, I’m not very girl-oriented, but I’m sure as hell not gay. I just have high standards ... Well, higher than some. I won't date a girl just to fuck her. What I'm doing is purely in the means of science, and partly to shut Keith up. It’s the same thing as a kid holding a magnifying glass out to the sun and frying an ant. Curiosity. Besides, we’ve always been a bit closer than most guys, but that in no way means that we’re --

What the fuck? There’s this unnerving feeling, starting in the tips of my fingers and spreading through my body like a shiver. But it’s not a shiver. It’s warm, and a little tingly, and it buzzes indefinitely at my mouth. What the fuck is this? I feel Keith’s lips move under mine and I taste a fruit-ish breath on my tongue and I know he's opened his mouth. I freak out and pull back. I’m almost positive I’m blushing, but I can see he isn’t. He’s looking at me, but I don’t really think it’s at me, because his eyes look a little far off. I watch his tiny pink tongue lick his lips for a moment before he looks straight at me, eyes focused once more.

“I didn’t really … feel anything," he concludes. “You?”

I lick my lips too, thinking it over. I can definitely taste something fruity on my lips. Maybe he had gum. Or fruit. There’s still a buzzing kind of thing going on … is that normal? I’ve kissed … not very many people before. Still, I’ve never felt this …

‘Something’?

Was this the ‘something’ people talked about?

I FEEL THE ‘SOMETHING’ FOR KEITH?

Noooooo way.

“Nothin," I lie happily, and he just nods, so we keep walking. “Sorry about that, by the way. It was in the sake of science."

“Of course, it's fine." he smiles nonchalantly. “Why else would you?”

“Yeah …” I reply absentmindedly.

We both live on the same street, but there’s an intersection between our sides. We pause at the street sign on the corner. He waves goodbye over his shoulder in that way he does and walks off towards his half of the street. I spin around and half walk, half stumble towards my house.

The warmth still hasn’t quite faded.





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