Heteroflexible

“Oh, alright,” I say with a nod. “Good thing I still have my old cans of spray paint stored in the janitor closet down the hall.”

My brother blinks. “Really?”

I smirk at him. “And now who’s the gullible one?”

He lets out one hearty laugh, then reaches out to grab me in a headlock, but I’m quicker and parry, leaving him bent over and off-balance. I playfully give his butt a kick, nudging him toward the door to the office. Tanner reacts with a choked laugh and gasp. Then he points at me with a, “You’re gettin’ quick on them feet of yours, boy!” before he laughs again and disappears into the office, grinning and chuckling openmouthed.

With a renewed smile on my face, I take off strolling down the hall, drinking in all the sights my eyes can find. The freshman wing—otherwise known as the “fish bowl”—is far away, so all the halls and rooms are dark as I pass them. It gives me a strangely mischievous feeling, like I’m not supposed to be here.

Wish Bobby was with me so we could have fun, race each other down the halls, and reminisce like a pair of memory-drunk fools. I bet he’d fucking have a blast here with me.

I check my phone.

For fuck’s sake, keep the damned thing away.

I stop at the doors to the main cafeteria. The only thing I hear is the soft hum of machinery somewhere—an air conditioning unit if I had to guess—but I swear if I close my eyes, I can almost hear the loud chatter of the cafeteria during lunchtime. I can hear a girl scream from across the room, shouting at her friends. I can hear guys beating their fists on the tables, causing everyone’s trays to rattle. I can hear laughter and gasping and more laughter. I can hear the scrapes and taps of spoons and forks.

And then I’m back where I am, and I hear nothing but that distant hum of machinery, all the memories turning into ghosts.

Ghosts of jokes that make a whole table burst into laughter.

Ghosts of stories told over bread rolls, dry cheese pizza, and stale chicken nuggets.

Ghosts of anxiety that swims in the bellies of the outcasts and awkward sophomores who aren’t sure where to sit.

Ghosts of the way things used to be.

It’s all just ghosts and weirdness in this place. I bet I wouldn’t recognize a single kid if I were here during the actual school year, listening to the actual noise. I would feel as lost and clueless as any freshman, looking around for something familiar, desperate for emotional comfort, in need of constant reassurance.

It’s strange, how it takes coming back to this place to realize how much I don’t miss it.

Without Bobby, reminiscing sure ain’t fun at all.

I put a hand to my pocket where my phone is, tempted, then sigh and leave that damned thing right where it is.

Then I go farther down the hall and arrive at the double doors to the dance gym, which the wrestlers happened to also utilize in the early mornings and the afterschool hours. The locker room is exclusively for girls, so I was given the back of the teacher’s closet to change every day for dance. The memory of that first day when I exclaimed, “I’m changin’ in a freakin’ closet??” at my teacher—and the incredulous look on her face—earns the first smile on my face since Tanner left me to wander these halls.

By total impulse, I whip my phone out, snap a selfie in front of the double doors, then shoot it straight to Bobby with a message:

ME

Give U one guess where I’m at, bro!!!

I grin, satisfied with myself, then wait for a response.

I bite my lip, standing there in front of the doors to the dance gym, and wait a bit longer.

My foot taps impatiently.

Three minutes later, he hasn’t even seen the message.

Fuck it. I push into the gym.

Wow. It’s instant, the effect. So many fucking memories. The awkward stares I got that first day I showed up for dance class junior year. The first time I tried my hand at a pirouette and fell on my dumbfounded face. Only some of the girls laughed.

Camille was there that day. I can picture her gentle face right now, staring at me from across the room, curious.

She didn’t laugh.

I got right the fuck back up and tried again. I remember it, the feeling in my chest, the knot of determination in me.

I tried everything I failed at again and again.

I refused to accept that I couldn’t do it.

Just a month after that, I was the one being called up in front of the class to show off my skills as the shining example.

Ballerina bro.

I chuckle at that, biting my lip and shaking my head.

The mirrors still line the front of the gym from one end to the other, punctuated only by an exit and the door to the girls’ locker room. I saunter along in front of that endless mirror, watching my reflection as it hops between the divisions from one wide mirror to the next.