Chapter Eight

"So...Izzy found your emu in your underwear drawer, huh?" I lean against Cody's door, looking like the freaking epitome of cool, as he busies himself by...well, I'm not quite sure what he's doing, but it's involving a hell of a lot of glitter glue.

"Were you eavesdropping or something?" He asks nervously, and my lack of an answer is all the answer he needs.

"I wonder what other treasures are lurking inside." I reach for one of his dresser drawers, slowly and deliberately, but Cody's too damn busy with his kindergarten-esque art project to even notice.

That's right. Mark today down in your calenders, folks, for it's soon to go down in history: I'm flirting.

And not even unintentionally.

I figure, why the hell not at this point? Maybe it's just the testostrome speaking, but today seems like the perfect day to take a risk-even moreso than that time when I ate my Mini Wheats without any milk.

Carpe de diem.

Seize the day.

I'm here, I'm queer, get used to it.

"Dude. Another guy is reaching for your underwear, but you're too busy...glittering to even notice." I raise an eyebrow. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were gay or something."

There; now how smooth was that?

"Uh...y-yeah, I guess so." He murmurs.

I guess so?

My stupid heart starts to pound in my stupid chest, and just like that my cool act deminishes-although (it kills my ego to say this), I have to admit that it wasn't too good of an act to begin with.

"But luckily, you do know me." He grins, holding up his masterpiece. The glue's not quite dry yet so the image starts to run and the talent is severley under par, but any moron can see what it's supposed to be.

Or who.


"It's a 'Congratulations' poster." He explains. "You know, for getting into the final three."

"Oh." It's all I can muster.

"Do you think she'll like it?" His eyes shine with a mixture of hope and teenage lust, and I have to turn away.


I run out of the room-or if you really want to get precise, I fast-walk-, feeling flushed and humiliated. What am I, stupid? No. No, of course not; I shouldn't even be thinking of such a thing. But I'm slipping. I'm becoming confused and...and emotional. Look-a tear. A freaking tear running down my freaking face, because the boy I like is in love with someone else and it's breaking my little gay heart.


Maybe I should just go to bed; take the extremely unhealthy way out and try to sleep the depression off. Collect my thoughts and bitch-slap my feelings.

I'm still contemplating this when Courtney barges into my room.

"The Tornado Watch just upgraded to a Warning." She says seriously.


I might've been too meloncholy to come up with a good, snarky comeback, but not enough to stop myself from smirking when she walks out of the room in a huff.

So...Tornando Warning; at least death is an effective way of coping with self-pitying depression.


Maybe things are looking up after all.