Lucky Chances

By: XPud
(© 2018-2019 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

xpud@tickiestories.us

Author's Note: Credit goes out to NeverAnywhere for helping with formatting, editing, and suggestions.

Chapter 4

The next morning is quiet. His parents come to pick him up, and he leaves with a simple, "Bye." No smile. I don't hear anything from him for that weekend, and we barely even look at each other on Monday. It's absolute torture; I feel like I brought this on myself, but I also feel like I don't deserve this at all. It's hard to explain.

Things do slowly get better over the week, thankfully. He starts talking to me again on Wednesday, though he still spends a lot of time with his other friends, like at lunch. I mean, he's allowed to have his friends and all, just...I dunno. I can't figure out why he still hangs out with a bunch of homophobes.

As you might guess, though, the end of the week follows the same pattern as before: the sleepover and the sex. This time it's at his place again; I top for a while before I have him screw me on my stomach again. I don't know why it feels so good even when it doesn't hit my prostate, but it just drives me crazy. The moment he does that little whimper, clenches up, and then that thump thump while he's pressed up against me, just...mm. Right, Luke. Focus. Trying to tell a story here, no time to go jack off. Oh, and he freaking ends up falling asleep for a bit on top of me. I swear it. He's lying there, dick still occasionally spasming in me, and after his breathing slows down from the orgasm, I hear his breathing start getting deep, right next to my ear. His legs relax a bit, and he freaking falls asleep while he drains the rest of his balls. On one side, I find it hilarious, and on the other -- no shaming -- I find it really hot. Can't explain why, but I'm chock-full of fetishes that I can't explain, so there's that.

He wakes up after a few minutes like that, where I'm just lying there splayed out on the floor with my brother's softening dick still buried in me, and I hear him snort a bit. "Mm?" he says, and moves his head. "Oh, shit." I start cracking up laughing as he apologizes, "What the heck? I fell asleep on you for a moment. I'm sorry!"

"You kinda drooled on me, too," I lie.

He gasps. "I--shit, I'm sorry!" He pulls himself off me and sits down. "Dude, I am so, so--"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! God, it's fine, Chance. It's really fine." I sit up, careful not to, uh, "spill" anything, still laughing the whole time. "If I cared, I'd have said something. It was...I dunno. Kinda hot?"

He blinks at me as I sit. "You find the weirdest things hot."

"Tell me about it." Like, y'know, my freakin' brother. Right, right, no time to wallow in misery. Story.

So that night, we don't talk about coming out or anything. I'm pretty sure he knows how I feel about it, and if he wants to avoid the topic, he can do that. I know better now than to press that issue.

So, speaking of issues, I finally start going to therapy like I said I would. I remember being really hesitant the very first time, seeing as I was afraid of anything new, and talking about your fears is never really all that easy, anyway. But yeah, I really don't want to go into deep detail about the whole thing, but the first session is the super boring "tell me about yourself" session, anyway. The therapist is an older Asian guy, Dr. Feng (though he prefers "Mr." instead), and he seems really nice. I can't wait to tell him that I'm crushing on my twin brother; I'm sure he'll get to write the next big psychology book and make millions off it. ...Sorry, I really need to stop that. In short, though, we get the basics out of the way and, since I already have some experience with therapy, we're able to get to the first big problem (really, the biggest problem): my anxiety. I tell him about the history, what I've done to help it, and how it's starting to get bad because of my new circumstances (i.e. finding out about Chance, adapting to the new school, all that). He takes the whole thing surprisingly well, instead of the usual five minutes of getting over the whole "long-lost twin" thing. Good therapist. So we end shortly after that, but I feel like it's not gonna be too bad. Maybe in a few sessions I can figure out how to approach the topic of coming out. As gay, I mean...not the other part; there's no way I'm going to admit to anyone else ever about that part.

Anyway, time passes, and the school year gets on a bit. As for myself, I finally start to feel like I belong at the school over the next few weeks. Quoc and Erin are badass, and we get along famously. Of course, every day in orchestra, someone asks me to play another song on the cello, and I'm like, I really only know the one song all that well, and also, no. So anyway, on orchestra days I sit with them at lunch, and on the other days I sit with Scott. There are days where Scott and I sit down and say nothing more than "hi" to each other and "bye," but for some reason it feels like...I dunno, like we still shared time together. I just wish that he had more friends; he's always alone every time I see him.

I do meet a couple of other cool people here and there, usually friends of friends and all that. Erin is good friends with some of the choir kids, and Quoc knows some of the engineering and robotics guys. Quite a few gamers in that crowd, which is pretty cool. We even talk about starting up a Minecraft community on the library computers if they'll let us, but the conversation doesn't really go anywhere.

One evening, though, I was having a conversation online with Jimmy, an old friend from Connecticut, telling him about all this. He points out something that didn't occur to me at all for some reason: I could totally start up a gaming group. But not video games...like, tabletop games.

So...you know how I said I like to write fantasy sometimes? One of the things I really got into for a while back in Connecticut was role-playing, like rolling dice and playing a fantasy character and all that. Pen-and-paper stuff. I liked it since I could be someone different and all, but it also helped me write better stories. I was always kind of embarrassed about it, though, since it was all nerdy and uncool at my old school, but the kind of people I've been meeting at this school, I dunno -- maybe they might be into it. I mean, I actually think I might still have an adventure or two buried in my old stuff somewhere that I could run for other people. That might be pretty fun.

I talk it over with the dads, who both think that it'd be great, that they're proud I'm even thinking about it, and all that. I'm sure I'm beet-red by the time they're done talking it up, but at least I know I have their support. The problem, though, is the next person I have to talk to: the principal. Just the very thought makes my knees weak. I mean, answering questions in class is bad enough, but having a one-on-one conversation with the head of the school? Just shoot me and get it over with.

I mention it to Chance in gym class at the beginning of the next week as we shoot hoops with a few other boys. Not like real basketball, just aiming practice, really. Anyway, he says, "Dude, you mean like fighters and wizards and all that?"

"Well, usually," I admit, chucking the basketball way over the goal. I suck.

Chance jogs over and takes the ball, dribbles it a few times, and shoots. It circles the rim twice before denying him the point. "Damn. But yeah, that sounds really cool! I don't really think it's my thing, but that still sounds pretty badass."

"I saw a Final Fantasy XV poster on your wall in your room, though," I point out.

"Oh, that?" he says with a small smile. "I, uh...I've never played it."

I blink at him a few times. "Why do you have the poster, then?"

"Honestly? It looked cool." He shoots again and swishes just under the net. We both suck.

"...Wow. Seriously?" I tease. "Well, anyway. I might need your help in getting some of it started."

"How the heck would I help?"

"I need you to--well, I'd like if you could talk to..."

He passes the ball to someone else. "Talk to who?"

I grimace a bit. "The principal...?"

His eyes go wide as he replies, "Mrs. Tyler?! You want me to talk to the principal for you?! I've only talked to her once, and it was NOT a good conversation."

"Oh God, what did you do?"

"It wasn't even anything bad. I pretended to flick off someone during a field trip, from one bus to another, but it was my ring finger. Some teacher thought I was serious and got me in trouble for it. I cried like a baby in the principal's office until she let me go." He turns a bit red in the ears and cheeks while he recounts the story.

"Yeah, see, that's me even thinking about going in there, and I'm not even in trouble."

Someone passes the ball to Chance, but it flies wide; after he gets back with it, he asks, "What bothers you so much about it? I mean, if you're not in trouble..."

"It's just going up and talking to people freaks me out sometimes, especially if they're more important than me."

"But you sound like an adult half the time -- how bad can it be?"

I laugh. "I sound like an adult to you, but when I go in there, I swear I'll sound like a kindergartener with a stutter. 'Hi, um, um, Mrs. Principal p-p-person. I, um, want to, um, I want, I was wondering if, um...'"

Chance is giggling stupidly by this point. "Stop, stop! God, just...stop--I get it. So what do you want me to do? I can't just go in there and pretend to be you."

I stare at him for a moment. "I actually didn't think of that."

He rolls his eyes and takes another shot; for once, he actually makes the shot. He pumps his fist a few times and turns to me. "Well, it's not happening. So yeah, I mean, I can just, like, be there for you. I really don't know what to do about it otherwise."

"Actually," I reply, "that might be enough. At least if I freeze up, you can...I dunno, butt in, or remind me what I'm saying...look, I dunno. At least for moral support."

"Well, sure. I can do that." The coach blows the whistle in the background to signal the end of class time. "So you wanna do that today?"

"GOD, no! I need prep time!" My heart picks up just thinking about it. "How about, like, the end of the week, so I can hide in my room for a few days if things go bad?"

Chance sighs. "Dude, you are blowing this WAY out of proportion. It'll be fine. The worst that happens is she says 'no,' right? It's not like you'll be thrown in prison for asking a simple question."

"Pff. Shows what you know. I mean, who knows what evil lurks within those doors?" I take on a melodramatic, spooky voice just for effect.

Chance narrows his eyes at me as we walk to the locker room. "I think I'da heard of someone getting thrown in suspension or whatever for asking questions by now. It hasn't happened."

"That's just what they want you to think!" I say emphatically, pointing to my head with both hands.

"Oh God, really?" Chance asks with a groan and an epic eye roll, shoving me away as I start cackling. "We're not related anymore," he says with a sigh and sits down to dress back into school clothes.

After we're both dressed, I say in a more serious tone, "Thank you though, for helping out. I really appreciate it."

"Sure. Anything for my brother."

"So we're related again?"

He stares at me with a slowly-growing smile. "Unfortunately."

I pump my fist in a little victory dance, hissing, "Yesssss!" He just shakes his head.

As we head to our respective classes, I feel a little better about the idea; just having him there makes the whole thing seem more doable. Also, having someone else to hassle instead of just Papa Davy all the time is kinda nice. Family is fun.

Still, though, I've got a week left before the end of the world, so I take a day to think about it and start sniffing out potential players the next day. I bring up the idea to the Harry Potter trio during a lull in history class.

"Dude!" exclaims Paul, the 'Harry' of the group. "What edition?!"

"Oh, you've played before?" I ask, stunned.

"I used to be a dwarf fighter. I had a war pick and could smash a skull in on a crit. It was Third Edition, I think; my dad started out even more old-school than that, but yeah, that's the one he used to run for us."

"Who was 'us'?"

"Oh, I was just part of the games that my dad ran for his friends. What edition would you be doing?"

I frown. "I would be doing Pathfinder, which is basically the same as Edition 3.5, I think. Never played the original Dungeons and Dragons stuff. Is that okay?"

He shrugs. "I know a little bit about 3.5. It shouldn't be too bad of a change. Whatcha think, Betts?"

The 'Hermione' lookalike replies, "Can I be a fairy archer?"

I think about it a bit. "I don't see why not. You might not be the best at flying and shooting at first, but everyone gets better. Let's go with, 'Sure, why not?'"

"Then count me in!"

Connor, the reddish-brown-haired 'Ron' analogue, chimes in, "I've never played, but if you are okay teaching, I'll give it a try."

Paul hoots, "Woo!" and gives him a high-five.

I warn, "Now this may not actually happen; I still have to clear it with the principal and figure out a time and all that, but I'll keep you guys updated, cool?"

"Cool!"

Well, there's three potential players. I ask Quoc and Erin later on, with Erin jumping at the opportunity. Quoc, however, politely declines; "I'll be happy to watch, though," he offers. I give them the same warning and all, and I call it a day as far as advertisement goes. We can have four players, but I'd prefer five or six so someone can be absent and still have the game go on. Either way, it looks like it's going well, so far.

The next day, I get to the lunch table and sit down across from Scott, who is contentedly examining his cheeseburger from all 360 degrees, rotating it and inspecting it. He turns it a little bit more, goes back to a spot, stares at it for a moment, and then takes an enormous chomp out of the burger. I have to stop myself from laughing at how cartoonish the entire thing looks, but he's happy.

I eat mine a little less viciously, but enjoy it all the same. As much as one can enjoy a school cheeseburger, anyway; it's edible. With my gaming group idea still in mind, I wonder to myself if there is some way I could include Scott. He's a good kid, and I'm sure the people I've talked to wouldn't mind him; I just don't know if he'd enjoy it.

"Hey, Scott," I say.

"What?" he asks with a full mouth.

"What do you like to do for fun?"

"What?" he asks again before continuing to chew.

"Like, what do you think is fun to do? Do you read? Do you play games?"

Scott thinks about it a moment over another bite of burger. "I read books and play games sometimes."

"What kind of books do you think are interesting? Do you read fantasy books? Nonfiction? Mystery?"

He takes another moment to answer. "I read fantasy books sometimes. I read a lot of books about math. I don't read mystery books."

Hm. Math. "Are you only interested in circles, or do you like other math?"

He replies quickly, "I like other math. I like everything about math."

"Would you be interested in playing a game that uses a lot of math? I'm making a group of people to play a fantasy game called Pathfinder, where people play as characters like in fantasy books, but they have to do math to figure out if their character actually hits a creature or succeeds at things."

"I know what Pathfinder is," he states plainly. "I help my mom when she plays all the monsters."

"I--wait, really?!" Do everyone's parents play tabletop games in this school?! Okay, so it's been two people, but that's still two more than I expected! "I mean, that's really cool! Um, would you maybe be interested in doing that for me, too? I want to be the Game Master of my own campaign, and it would be super helpful to have someone do that for me. Um, to help me, I mean. Y'know, with the math stuff."

Scott stares at his plate a moment. "Do I have to talk to other people?"

"No, not necessarily. I mean, you can just tell me the result of the dice and whether things hit or whatever. You don't have to talk to others for it. Would that be okay?"

Scott, still looking at his plate, smiles bigger than I've ever seen. "Okay. That sounds like fun."

His smile is contagious; cute kid. I mean he's only like 2 years younger than me, but you know. I respond, "Great! Um, I don't have permission just yet, but I can let you know if it all works out. It would be after school, probably like Tuesday or Wednesday or something."

He just nods, shoving the last piece of burger in his mouth. The rest of lunch goes by quietly, but before he gets up to throw his trash away, he looks over at my general area and actually meets my eyes for a moment before looking away. Smiling again, he says, "You are my best friend, Looke."

His admission leaves me speechless a moment. I mean, I just didn't think that I was really that important to him. After an awkward moment, I reply, "Thanks. You're a really good friend, too, Scott."

He grins and says, "Goodbye, best friend Looke." He gets up and takes his trash before I can respond, which is probably for the best, seeing as I'm left feeling almost giggly with emotion.

After school, I head to my therapist appointment. I realize I could totally hijack the whole thing and just bring up this whole issue right now, but I feel like there's just too much backstory and other things to deal with, so we talk about my general anxiety and fears, things like that instead. We compare the techniques I use to calm down now with some that he typically suggests; they're pretty similar, so it's not super helpful.

Still, near the end of the session, I decide to ask, "So...do you have any general tips on how to get over anxiety, like, with talking to people?"

"In what context?" he asks.

"Like, say you had a plan you wanted to present to someone. How do you get over that kind of nervousness?"

He half-smiles, his laugh lines wrinkling up near his eyes. "You sound like an entrepreneur pitching a brand-new business model."

"Well, it's not like a business or anything, it's just, y'know."

"I was teasing; my apologies. So you are looking for a way to be less nervous or anxious in front of a 'boss'-type person, correct?"

"Yeah, I guess that works."

"Well, do you feel that same anxiety when you're talking to a teacher?"

I think about it. "No, I guess not."

"But I assume you do if you have to make a presentation in front of class."

"Oh GOD yes." The mere thought almost puts me in a cold sweat.

"So what do you think is the difference there?"

"I...hm. I'm not sure. I mean I guess that it's not usually for a grade when I'm just talking to the teacher."

He gestures to me. "What else?"

I rack my brains for a moment. "I...guess it's less formal?"

"Okay," he says, nodding. "So when it's more formal, you're more nervous?"

I shrug, "I guess so. Yeah."

"Is it just because it's formal? Is there something specific that you fear about presentations?"

"I'm always afraid I'm going to do something wrong, or that the other kids are gonna laugh at me."

"So you're not afraid of those things when you're just talking to a teacher."

"No, not really."

"Is this person that you'll be talking to more like the other students, or more like a teacher?"

"Well...it's the teacher's boss. The principal."

"Well, do you think the principal will laugh at you, or give you a bad grade?"

I sigh, "No, but I'm afraid I'll do something wrong."

"Like what?"

"I don't know!" I snap, throwing my hands in the air. I stop and look down, saying, "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

He just smiles again. I swear, this guy is unshakeable. "It's okay. You're just frustrated. You may consider, though, thinking through the possibilities of what might go wrong and honestly evaluate how likely those scenarios are. You will probably find that many of them aren't likely to happen."

I ponder the idea as we wrap up the meeting. Somehow, thinking of all the possible ways for things to go wrong sounds like a great way to put myself in a really bad mental loop, so I shove the idea aside as best I can.

Even so, I admit I can hardly eat that night. Papa Chris notices, mostly because normally I devour his cooking, and it's his special tilapia tonight, which is way up there on the list. He asks, "What's the matter, Squirt?"

"I thought you weren't going to call me that anymore." I'm not really upset, but I give him the raised eyebrow anyway.

"I believe the alternative was 'Spurt,' seeing as I think we're going to have to get you new jeans again soon. Your choice."

I blink at him slowly a few times. "I'll go with 'Squirt' for now, if 'Luke' isn't an option."

He smiles at me. "Seriously, though, what's bothering you?"

"I'm going to talk to the principal tomorrow about the game group thing."

Papa Davy says, "What, is that it?"

"Gee, thanks for the encouragement. I can really feel the support."

Papa Davy rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Oh. Mah. Gawd. Sarcasm is terrible for my complexion. I'm breaking out already, I can feel it." He starts blotting at his face with his napkin.

Despite my anxiety, I can't help but laugh at his stupidity. He's good at what he does, I'll give him that. "Yeah, that's 'it.' I'm still freaking out over it. This is like, way more than I've ever tried to do."

Papa Chris nods, swallowing a bite of chicken, and says, "Sure, but you're also a confident, well-spoken person, and I'm sure it'll go perfectly fine."

"Confident?" I repeat. "Me? I know I look like Chance, but I'm definitely not him. He's confident. I'm freaking out."

"Well," Papa Chris replies, "what do you plan on saying to the principal? Have you planned it out?"

"You mean like writing it out? Not...exactly. No."

"Do you think that might make you a bit more confident, if you had already planned out what to say?"

I consider it. "That...hm. So just like walk in there with a script and read it out?"

Papa Chris smiles over a bite of rice. "You make it sound like the most powerful orators, lawyers, and politicians out there don't do the same thing. Obviously you may end up deviating from it a bit, but it's somewhere to start from, and that's the hardest part of the whole thing."

Papa Davy chimes in, "And you could always ask Chance to be there for you, since he's so confident and all." Papa Davy shakes his head to the sides and puffs out his chest in an imitation of superiority.

"I already did, actually. He'll be there."

"I--oh." Papa Davy takes a particularly smug bite of fish. "See? Told you I give good advice."

"I did it before you gave it, though."

"That's just how good I am."

I take a deep breath, hold it, and decide to stuff my face with spinach before I say anything back to Papa Davy.

After dinner, I go upstairs and sit down in front of the computer to try to come up with something to say to the principal. I dive back into last year's lessons on writing persuasive essays, and after a half-hour of deleting the first line over and over again and growling in frustration, with another hour or two of actually writing, I eventually come up with this: 

Principal Tyler,

I am here to ask for your permission to start up an after-school club for role-playing games. There are already a few good after-school activities, but most of them cater to sports or tutoring; I feel that we need to branch out and provide more options for students that fall under the category of "good grades, but don't like sports." I think that this club would provide a good option for that, an option that has many side benefits.

For one, like all other after-school activities, the students involved in the role-playing games would be in a safe area doing safe activities, which would reduce the risk of kids hanging out with the wrong crowd and possibly doing unsafe activities for "fun." The content of the games is no more dangerous or explicit than a typical young-adult fantasy book, and there is no risk of physical danger, either.

For another, students can practice many life skills through these games. A player often has to act like their character, so they can practice their acting skills. There is also a decent amount of math often involved, which means that students will be getting practice in math, as well. Finally, players must work together to solve problems in the game, so the students will be exercising both cooperation and problem-solving skills. [Papa Chris helped me with the last bit in that paragraph, by the way.]

Finally, role-playing games are a great way for people to be someone else for a while, which some of us really need once in a while. Being a thirteen-year-old is hard; sometimes it's nice to be a 113-year-old elf that can cast magic spells to fix things. Sure it's not real life, but it's a great way to forget about real life problems for a bit.

In conclusion, I'd really appreciate if you could give us permission to start up this club. I have around five other students already interested, and I'm finding out if others want to do something as well. If we could use a room in the school, it would make meeting up and doing this much easier and more convenient for our parents to pick us up afterward. I promise we will treat the room with respect and not cause any problems.

Thank you for your time. 

So I know the whole thing is stupid corny and cringe worthy, but at least it'll make it look like I really care about it, right? Hopefully she doesn't laugh at me and tell me to go back to writing class. I will admit, though, that I feel a lot better after writing all of that out. Even if I don't stick to the "script," so to speak, it still really does help to get the thoughts out so I can see them instead of just thinking them over and over.

Finally, Friday arrives. I cleared it with my parents and with Chance to have us show up thirty minutes early so that we could talk to the principal before school. I go with chance to the office, where I walk up to the front desk, take a deep breath, and say, "Hi, I'd like to talk to the principal."

The clerk looks at me and smiles a little. "Sorry, but she's in a parent meeting right now. Maybe you could try back near the end of school today."

Damn! Damn damn damn! "Oh...okay," I say, though inside I'm steaming. I got here early just to do this, and now some kid's parents are yelling at the principal for something stupid and now I'm going to have to deal with the principal at the end of the day, after all that, after I sit and freak out for the whole day--

"Luke?" Chance asks with his hand on my shoulder.

I whip around to see him hop a quick step back, both of us as surprised as the other. "Sorry," I say quietly with a nervous laugh. "I...guess we can come back later."

The receptionist says, "If you want to leave your name and the reason you need to meet, I can make sure she gets it and can call you down when she has time."

"Oh, uh, okay." I jot down my name and put "Ask about after-school club" as the reason. She takes the paper and smiles at me, and Chance and I head out of the office.

In the hall, Chance looks at me with a little amused smile. "You're really stressing over this, huh."

"How could you tell?" I ask as we walk toward the cafeteria.

He raises his eyebrows and laughs a bit as he replies, "Dude, you're like a mousetrap. I'm afraid my finger'll get snapped off if I touch you." He pantomimes slowly reaching out to touch me, and then he makes a loud, "PSH!" sound with his mouth as he jerks his finger back quickly.

I laugh and shake my head. "Sorry, I know. I...I'll try to calm down."

He walks around behind me and says, "You need, like, a shoulder massage or something." He puts his hands on my shoulders, which I realize are completely tensed up. He starts digging his fingers into my collarbone, the exact opposite of what a good massage should feel like. "Ow, ow, ow! Whoa!" I say, ducking out from under his hands.

"Oops, sorry," he says with a sheepish grin. "I was never very good at massages."

"Remind me later and I'll show you how they're supposed to go," I say. I'm also not the best at them, but one of my friends back at the old school had magic fingers -- and no, don't go there. I mean, I would totally go there with him now, now that I...anyway. Off-topic. But he was a wizard with massages, so I learned a few things from him.

"Oooh," Chance says, an excited look on his face. I close my eyes and shake my head, though inside I can't stop thinking about all the different things I want to do to him now that I'm thinking about it. Sigh. Awkward boner time. I hold my backpack in front of me until we make it into the cafeteria where I can sit and let things calm down a bit until the first class starts.

Classes go by excruciatingly slowly, mostly because I can't stop obsessing over the stupid meeting. I know it's not as bad as I'm making it, but I can't seem to convince my brain of that. Anxiety sucks. Anyway, it gets to speech class, and we're sitting down, getting ready to start class, right? All of a sudden, the teacher's phone rings on her desk (like, the clunky office phone type, not her cellphone). She answers it, says "yes" a few times, and hangs up. "Lucas Chatham? Can you head to the front office? They need to see you."

My eyes shoot open. Brandi glances at me with furrowed brows and asks, "Are you in trouble?"

"No. It's...no." That utterly uninformative attempt at speaking doesn't get her to stop looking at me funny, so I add, "Don't worry about it."

She raises one eyebrow. "O...kay. Uh, good luck?"

I sigh and laugh nervously. "Thanks. I need it." I look at Chance with desperation in my eyes, but he shrugs. I look at the teacher. "Um...can Chance come with me?"

"He wasn't called down," Mrs. Clemens responds calmly. "Hurry back when you're done."

Gonna panic now. Just gonna go panic now. With shaky hands, I take the sheet of paper that has my speech written out on it out of my binder and exit the room, walking numbly down the hallway, feeling one step away from hyperventilating. I take each measured step, trying to tell myself to calm down, that it's going to be fine, that she just wants to talk to me, that--

"Luke!" my brother whispers down the hall. I whirl around to see him walking up to me. "I asked to go to the bathroom." He walks up to me and puts his hands on both my shoulders, staring me down. "Look. You're gonna be fine. Stop freaking out."

"I'm not--" I attempt to say, but when my voice cracks stupid high on the second word, I stop even trying. "Okay, maybe I am a little."

"Dude, you're super pale. Even for us. You look like you're gonna pass out."

"Why can't you come with me?!" I say desperately. "I can't do this!"

Chance just pulls me in for a bear hug. I flail for a moment, taken off-balance, but after I regain myself, I return the hug. I wasn't sure at first why he just randomly started hugging me, but it quickly calms me down just knowing the support is there. Once my breathing slows a bit, he pushes me back out to arm's length and says, "You'll be fine. Nothing bad will happen. Just go be awesome."

I take a deep breath and, somehow, his confidence inspires something in me. I nod to him. "Okay." We stand there for an awkward moment before I say, "You...should probably go to the bathroom now."

Talking a quick deep breath and nodding, he  says, "Right. Go get 'em." He turns around and heads the other way toward the bathrooms.

I walk to the office, envisioning myself with Chance's confidence level the entire time; by the time I get there, I almost feel like I've convinced myself that I actually have that confidence. I push the door open and walk up to the desk, signing my name on the little sheet of paper. "Hi, I'm here to talk to the principal?" I say with an obvious question in my tone of voice.

"Just walk on back," the receptionist says brusquely. "First door on the left."

I follow her directions and walk into a long office with a meeting table on one side, bookshelves lining the short walls, and windows lining the long ones. At the other side of the room is a pair of interlocked desks, one full of stacks of papers and the other full of computer equipment. Behind the desks is Mrs. Tyler, a stern-faced woman with one of those short, business-like haircuts -- it's hard to explain, but it's like short on the sides and has a little wave thing in the front, but...whatever, it's just business-like. Papa Davy could explain it better or call it by its name. Sorry, off-track. So she's there, looking at her monitor and typing something. On the other side of the desks are two chairs, one of which already has someone in it. I don't know her specifically, but she looks familiar. She's a lot younger-looking than the principal, with a super short, spiky blond haircut and kind of a baby-face. Wait -- she's the one that gave me a weird look when I was talking to Scott that first time! What the heck is she doing here? Are they in a meeting? Did I guess wrong? Did they just need me in the office?

"Lucas Chatham?" Principal Tyler asks with a smile on her face as she sees me in the doorway. "Please, come in; have a seat." The other woman turns the chair in invitation.

I look at the two with a look that probably resembles a cornered animal as I walk up and sit down in the chair. I try my best to steady my hands, but I'm shaking so badly that the paper is rattling in my hands.  

"You're not in trouble or anything," Mrs. Tyler says in a voice much more soothing than I expected from her. "I just heard that you had an idea for the school and wanted you to have the opportunity to tell me in person."

Oh, she already knows? Who the heck told her? What...who... "Um, s-so you already know about the club?"

"I do, mostly because a certain student is beyond excited about it." She looks meaningfully at the other woman.

"Hi," the other one says, extending her hand. "I'm Mrs. Cox, with the Special Education department." I shake her hand -- which is much warmer than my ice-cold, sweaty palms -- and she continues, "So you know Scott Davis, the boy you sit with at lunch?"

I shrug and reply, "I mean, only really from lunchtime, but yeah. Why? Did I do something?"

She laughs, a tinkly, comforting laugh. "I'd say you have. I've literally never seen him happier. Since the day that you first sat down and talked with him, he's been happier overall, more likely to do his work, less likely to have breakdowns...I don't think you realize the impact you've had on him. In just these few weeks, he's changed dramatically."

"Oh." The thought fills me with both pride and bashfulness; I definitely didn't want to become famous around the school just for being someone's friend. That's awkward.

"So imagine my surprise when he comes in and talks my head off about the new gaming group you want to put together, with him as the one in charge of doing all the math." Mrs. Cox laughs again. "What was it called? Pathfinder?"

"Yes, ma'am." I'm trying to imagine Scott talking up a storm, and it's just not showing up in my mind. I mean, there was the time he talked about circles, but that was, y'know, not like a monologue or anything.

"Well," Principal Tyler interjects, "anyone who helps out our special populations already earns a good spot in my book. So tell me the details of the group."

I tell her about the game a bit, what I expect from the group, how long we'll stay, what days would work, all that business. "And, I mean, others are welcome to join and either, like, maybe make their own game groups or play board games or something. I mean, I want it to be more than just us, the one gaming group, but I don't know how to, I guess, organize it? Advertise it?"

Mrs. Cox says, "Actually, I have an idea that might really kick it off. This school is in need of an inclusivity club."

"A what?" I have a pretty good vocabulary, but still.

"A club for inclusion, to bring together all types of people in a safe space. I think having games to play would be a great thing that could happen in it, but just having a space where you aren't made fun of for anything at all is something a lot of students desperately need."

"Hm." She has a point. I say, "You know, that could really help a lot of things: people like Scott could maybe make some more friends, we could make sure that LGBTQ kids are safe -- or at least have a safe space, maybe even put some after-school student tutorials kind of thing together if there's enough people..."

The principal raises an eyebrow. "Mrs. Cox, I think we have a real entrepreneur here." They both chuckle a bit; that's just what my therapist said, but I still don't get it. She continues, "You will need to have a sponsor, though, a trusted staff member that has the time and wants to watch over everything."

My heart sinks a little bit. "Oh. So I have to -- I mean, do I need to go ask around? How do I..."

Mrs. Cox puts a hand up to stop me. "No, I have that part. I'd be happy to sponsor. That way, I can help out with any of the special needs that my students have, which other teachers may not be aware of." She smiles and adds, "That, and I'm curious how different Pathfinder is than Third Edition D&D."

I know my eyes just about fall out of my face. "You played it?!"

"Well...not so past-tense. It's only monthly these days, but the crew and I get together and run our characters. I completely understand how fun it can be. But anyway, getting back to the point, you've got my vote, and I'm happy to help out on the back end administrative side to get this rolling."

My mind is completely blown. With a mix of emotions all canceling each other out, I look down at the essay in my hands, wondering if I just ended up writing this for nothing. "So...the club is a 'yes'?"

Principal Tyler grins. "Yes, it is. Give it about two weeks; you and Mrs. Cox can iron out the details in the meantime."

I stand up, just as numb as I felt coming here, but for entirely different reasons. "Thank you very much for listening -- I mean, for agreeing. For letting this happen." For putting up with me sounding stupid with every word I say. For --

Mrs. Tyler stands up and walks around the desk to shake my hand. "Really, it's you that I should be thanking. I'd been wondering how to make a club like that happen around here for a while; it's something that we can definitely use to make this school a better place. All I needed was someone to spearhead it, and then you just show up and bam! Problem solved." She has a genuinely pleased look on her face. Her eyes fall on the paper in my hands: "Was that a note for me?"

I look down at my unused essay. "Oh, uh, just notes on...what I was gonna say."

"Do you mind if I see it? I'm curious."

I hand it over automatically, though it feels like I'm ripping a piece of me off and handing it to her. It's one thing to write something, another to read it, but when you just hand it over like that...

She scans over it a moment. "Hm. You have some solid points here. I like your writing style, too. Why aren't you writing for our yearbook team?"

I stop, stunned. "I...I didn't even think about it. To be honest, I didn't know we had one here."

She laughs through her nose. "Maybe you can fix that. But first things first: let's get that group started. I'm looking forward to watching it grow." She shakes my hand again.

"Thank you, ma'am. I...wow. Thanks." The whirlwind hasn't stopped at all, but at least I think it's about to end. I can't even tell which way is forward after all this.

Mrs. Cox follows me out of the office and walks with me down the hall. "So this is your first year here, right?"

"Yeah...how'd you know?"

"Well, stories about things like 'two reunited twins' get around the school pretty quickly. Most of the teachers have at least heard about it."

I feel myself turning red as the spotlight suddenly shines on me. "I guess that makes sense. But yeah, why?"

"Well, I hadn't seen you around before, but the first day I saw you talking to Scott, I was convinced that Chance was over there talking to him. I figured he might be teasing him or something."

I look at her, horrified. "He'd never do that! ...Would he? Has he before?"

"Well, no, but I couldn't figure out why else he was there. He'd never shown an interest in talking to any of the special needs kids, on the spectrum or otherwise. But it makes sense, now. You're a pretty amazing boy already; I have a feeling you'll do great things."

We stop in front of the speech classroom. "I...don't feel the same way, honestly, ma'am."

"Really? You've already changed one person's life here. That's a pretty good start, don't you think?"

She has a point, I guess, but for some reason, it doesn't feel like it's because of anything I did. Maybe he just started growing up more. "I guess so," is all I can think of to say.

She smiles enigmatically (how's THAT for a vocabulary word?). She says, "I'll be in touch. How about we meet up in a week to talk about things? Let me know what kind of interest there is, what day would work best, anything you find out. If you have questions, you can always come by after school and talk."

"Okay. Sounds good." We stand there for an awkward moment before she waves and walks off.

I return to the class to find my table mates and Chance starting at me inquisitively from their seats. I just smile stupidly and gives a thumbs-up before sitting down and catching up on class activities.

After class, Chance joins me in the halls. "So? How'd it go? What happened? Tell me the deets!"

I stare at him a moment. "...Deets? Really?"

With an impatient frown, he stares me down. "Shut up and start talking."

"But how can I--ow!" I don't get a chance to finish being obnoxious before I get jabbed in the side. "Fine, fine, geez. It went really well. We're gonna talk about starting up an Inclusivity Club that meets once a week."

"A whuh...?"

"An Inclusivity Club. A club that is all about including people."

"How is that different from any other club around here?"

I explain, “I mean ‘including people’ like, like people as they are, not...” Well, that isn’t working. Sighing, I try again. “’Inclusivity’ as in letting people be who they really are, not having to hide it for others.”

Chance stares through me. “I still don’t get it. Hide what?”

“Chance.” I stare him down. “I mean, like, would you want to come out in the basketball club?"

His eyes go wide and he snaps, "Shh!"

"Dude, I just mean, if you were gay, would you feel accepted in the basketball club?"

He relaxes visibly; if he were a cat, his hair would be slowly settling back down. "Gotcha. No, I guess not."

"So we're gonna be gaming, and it doesn't matter who you are or what you like. I wouldn't even care if there was a furry in the club."

"Dude, really? That's weird."

"So is being gay, according to a lot of people."

"Yeah, but less now than before..."

"And?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay,” he says with a hand up, “I get your point. Still, that's weird to me."

I stop where the hallway meets the main lobby and take his arm. "Look. Imagine if your dad, when he was still a girl, wanted to be part of something. Imagine how scary it would have been for him to be comfortable enough to admit being transgender to anyone at all. Now imagine if there was a group of kids that were completely okay with it and even invited people to join them no matter how different you feel you are."

Chance narrows his eyes at me. "Is this about my dad, or me?"

"Okay, so I screwed up the pronouns at the end, but the example still works, right? Quit being picky."

"Fine, I just...right. I get you.” After an awkward pause, he stammers, “So... we gotta get to the buses." He turns to head out.

“Hey,” I say, reaching to put my hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

I smile a bit. “Thanks for helping me out today.”

Frowning, he asks, “How? I didn’t even get to go with you.”

“The pep talk in the hallway actually helped a lot. I’m...really good at telling myself I can’t do things. It helped to hear someone say I can.”

He smiles, turning a little red. Then he laughs a bit, replying, “And it was in your own voice, too.”

I pause a moment. “You know, maybe that helps,” I say with a grin. “Anyway, let’s go. Buses are revving up.”

To be continued...

Posted: 05/24/19