44 Chapters About 4 Men - BB Easton Page 0,3

her spiky-haired pierced boyfriend that it was Skeletor’s birthday. (I don’t know how anyone would have known unless Knight had just thrown it out as proof that his life had somehow gotten even worse. I imagine it would have sounded something like, “I can’t fucking believe my fucking whore mom stole all my cigarettes and went out of town with her faggot husband on my fucking birthday. Hey, what the fuck are you looking at, asshole?”) So, naturally, I bought him a chicken sandwich while I was going through the lunch line.

Bouncing over to our table and sporting a big grin (I should explain that I have always been disgustingly hyper and enthusiastic, and I would have made an excellent cheerleader if I weren’t so anti-establishment and clumsy) I thrust it into Knight’s face and chirped, “Happy birthday!”

In return, Knight lifted his ever-scowling head and pinned me with what felt like two searing blue laser scopes. I stood, in a breathless state of suspended animation, realizing a moment too late that I might have just poked the rattlesnake.

As I braced myself for a barrage of expletives, I watched Knight’s perma-scowl melt and slide off right before my eyes instead.

His brow, which had been tightly furrowed, smoothed and lifted in surprise. His glacial eyes widened, and his lips parted in a soul-bearing silent gasp. It was a heartbreaking expression of gratitude and disbelief. It was as if the boy we called Skeletor had never received a gift in his life. I could almost hear his armor clatter to the floor as I peered into the face of someone vulnerable, aching, and alone.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t remember how air worked. Once my lungs began to burn, I finally tore my eyes away from his broken soul and sucked in a deep breath, pretending to admire my new white Dr. Martens (yet another purchase made in the name of seducing punk rock icon Lance Hightower), but it was too late. In those few seconds I had seen it all. Seen too much. A lifetime of pain, a longing for significance, and a tidal wave of love waiting to crash down on the first person brave enough, or stupid enough, to wade in.

I’d expected him to recover his armor and return to his brooding—after all, it was just a dumb sandwich—but much to my surprise (and horrifying embarrassment) Knight stood up, pointed directly at me, and shouted to everyone at our table, “This is why BB is the only fucking person on this planet that I can fucking stand! None of you motherfuckers gave me shit for my birthday!” Making sure to give each and every terrified zit-faced misfit a personalized predatory glare, he finally finished, “I fucking hate all of you!”

Evidently, Skeletor had a flare for the dramatic.

Too stunned to react, I watched helplessly as he slunk back into his seat with the smug, lazy grace of a just-fed lion, obviously satisfied with the scene he’d just caused and the shocked silence that had fallen over the cafeteria. I was the only one standing, and all eyes were now on me, including Knight’s, which were regarding me with a broad, rapacious Cheshire Cat kind of grin.

Suddenly, I wanted my money back.

You see, Journal, all I’d thought I was buying was a chicken sandwich and maybe, if I were lucky, a spot on the good side of the guy voted Most Likely to Kill Us All with a Two-by-Four Full of Rusty Nails. That’s it.

I did not like Knight. I did not want to be friends with Knight, if that were even possible. He was scary and angry, and all I’d wanted was for him to like me enough not to scream at or murder me. Who knew that a stupid dollar fifty would also buy me the singular obsessive, undying devotion of the town’s only skinhead?

As I stood there, cryogenic—my big dumb green eyes caught in the crosshairs of Knight’s savage blue stare—it became clear that he was going to make me his whether I liked it or not.

And in the beginning, I definitely liked it not.

Frenemies

August 24

Knight was one tenacious bastard, Journal, but too bad for him I was (A) not attracted to him in the slightest and (B) equally obsessed with someone else.

Throughout my freshman year, Knight pursued me while I bobbed and weaved, jockeying for position next to Lance (or under Lance or astride Lance in a reverse cowgirl).

Eventually, as a way to pass the time while I continued to