JACK

Hello and welcome to the first annual meeting of the idiots society, my name is Jack McPhee and I will be acting as your president for today. I�d blown it. Completely and utterly blown it.

Three days in a foreign country, three days that I thought were going to be living hell had suddenly begun to look quite appealing as I�d met Will, stood facing a tube station map as if it were encoded by some alien cult. And now? Now I�d blown it. I�d known the guy for like, 5 hours, and I�d already frightened him away.

I�d been wrong. I�d thought I could trust him, thought that perhaps he wouldn�t be scared off by the truth, but he�d proved me completely incorrect.

However there was still one thought that niggled in the back of my mind, that no distractions could shake lose. It had been there as I�d paced the streets of an unfamiliar city, eventually finding my way back to the tube station I�d watched Will disappear into half an hour or so before. It was there as I studied the maps similar to the ones I�d met him in front of, before stepping onto my train back to Queensway and our hotel. It was there as I took the elevator up to the second floor and found my room again, scrabbling in my pockets to find the key that always took about 15 tries to work in the locks. And it was there now- that little annoying thought that grew and grew in the back of my mind �why had I decided to talk to him all those hours before?

At the time I thought it had been the confidence of new surroundings, or the kindness of the old lady, willing to put herself out there when she saw that I was anxious. But perhaps, just perhaps, it had been nothing of the sort, perhaps it had just been him and the look in his eye, the look that spoke of being out on your own in unspeakable weather, lost and alone, battling the elements of your confusion.

There in that look was something I had recognised, something I had seen in the mirror more times than I cared to remember. Looking into his face had been like stepping back in time, back to a younger version of myself, back into my poem.

The scariest thing, I realised, about that chance encounter, was not that I was meeting a stranger for the first time, but that I was meeting a familiar. Someone so like me it was untrue, the someone I had been only a year or so before. Perhaps persona�s were simply handed down from person to person, like second hand clothing- you pull them on and then pass them on, letting another share the experiences and feelings you had when you were in them. Suddenly I knew where mine had gone, I felt like a person who�d just seen another wearing their favourite jumper knitted especially for them when they were five and that had been tossed out to a charity store years before.


I could picture him now, as he had been stood on that platform, looking at me with such innocent eyes, it was like looking into a time warp. Even now it was hard to pull away, shut that image out of my mind, try and stop myself picturing his face, wearing my expression.

Funny how I still thought it my expression, that I had somehow laid claim to my persona in the short time I had been the one inhabiting it. I�d come so far since my poem that it had been almost painful to drag it out on Jen�s instruction. I had to get used to it, she said, practise saying it in front of people, get used to the feelings it awoke in me so I wouldn�t re-enact the tears and emotion that had tainted its recital the first time. I had learnt its words almost without emotion now, almost to the point when it became menial, which I suppose is exactly the opposite of what I should have done, for without emotion what is poetry but a random assortment of letters on a page? But back to my point, I�d come so far from the days when those random letters had been placed there, Jen, Ethan, Tobey�they were all people who meant very little and nothing to me then, but they had all changed my life, so dramatically it was hard to recognise the self I was today in Will�s sky-blue eyes. Instead I could not ignore the attraction that I found there.

Which brings me back to my starting point, full circle. If I�d recognised in Will�s eyes the same emotions I had recognised in myself only a year or so earlier the joke was on me, I was an idiot. If someone had come out to me a year earlier, someone I�d clearly been attracted to even if I didn�t know it and didn�t want to acknowledge it, I would have run a mile. So really, I shouldn�t have been surprised that Will had. I�d blown it. Completely and utterly�

My thoughts were cut off abruptly by knuckles softly grazing the other side of my door- loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to wake me had I been sleeping.

I slipped out of bed; where I had been laid awake, staring at the ceiling, arms folded behind my head, musing.

�Will?� For some reason -perhaps it had been the fact that my thoughts had not strayed from him since he had left me stood in the centre of Leicester square- I was not surprised to find it was him stood sheepishly in the hall as I swung open the door of my hotel room.
�What are you doing here?� I asked in response to his silence.

�I, I�� A stuttered response, he seemed more surprised than I was that he should be stood there, at midnight, in only the shorts and t-shirt he was presumably sleeping in.

�How did you know which room I was?� Again no answer.

�I saw you get back�� A beat, �You think I could come in?�

�I don�t know, you sure you want that? I mean I could jump you at any minute� For some reason, although I�d spent the last few hours musing about how much of an idiot I was for telling him and how I didn�t blame him for getting all scared on me, I was still bitter.

�Jack,� My name on his lips seemed to send a shudder through my body, but I tried to tell myself it was only the cold hallway �Don�t be like that, I�m sorry I wigged out on you earlier, I was just� I don�t know what I was, but I�ve come to explain. Let me in, please�

I did as instructed.

WILL

It wasn�t until he actually opened the door that I realised exactly what I was doing. I�d spent the last few hours in a strange strain of suspended animation, half wanting to think about what had just happened, process it, come to terms with it, the other half simply wanting to hide in my room and hope that the entire world would dissolve around me.

Neither had happened.

I lay staring at the ceiling of my hotel room for a long time after I got back, allowing my mind to gloss over the scene at the caf� and the square, allowing it to process each nugget of information, analysing the feelings in my stomach as I heard him say those words: �About me being gay�� over and over in my mind.

Until finally I no longer wanted to lie there alone and analyse those feelings and instead, almost without my minds consent, I slipped out of bed and, grabbing only my key and a slip of paper from the night stand, I stepped into the hall, finding the door I�d quietly watched Jack enter (after many failed attempts) earlier that evening.

�Go on then�� The inside of his room was exactly like my own, except inverted, the door on the left side not the right, the bed against the opposite wall, mussed by troubled sleep, if indeed he had been sleeping at all. ��explain� He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving me in the spotlight, uncomfortable, scared.

I took a deep breath, lifting the piece of crumpled paper I had brought with me into my line of sight.

�Ad-rift, by William Krudski� I couldn�t catch his eye, and instead, went on reading.
       
�I lay listening to the sea-sounds of your breathing,

The ebb and flow of air through perfect lips,
Washing against my cheek.
Though you do not lay here.

The current of your eyes
So powerful I cannot help but be swept away.

By you,
Only you.

You are my watery death and my steadfast saviour.
My rock, I cling to beneath the circling vulterous seagulls,
With their diamond jewelry and overstated wallets,
Above the depths of my years.

My present, holding me safe.�

There was a long silence after I had finished reading, head bowed now to the floor rather than the paper, I knew it off by heart anyway.

�I wrote it not long ago,� I went on, ��sat awake at night, listening to my roommate breathing� A pause, before I attempted a feeble laugh �I have no idea why I�m telling you this, some stupid cry for attention I guess, but,� I swallowed �I go to an all male school- Rawley Boys. His name is Scout.� Silence again, this time it was not me processing his information, but him processing mine �So I guess, when I ran when you told me you were gay, it got just that little bit too real, I wasn�t ready to face it, and, the worst of the matter is, I don�t think I am yet either��

Then suddenly he was by my side, ducking his face so he could look into my eyes, finger gently brushing against the back of my hand where it had fallen by my side.

�You already have� He said gently �You told me, and believe me I know how scary it can be�

And then as quickly as he had appeared by my side I was folded in his arms, face pressed against the thin material of his T-shirt stretched across a broad shoulder, his arms encircling my back, holding me close as I tried to stifle the tears that threatened to flow against the close proximity of another.

�I�m scared Jack,� I said finally, burying my face in his warm scent �I don't want to be going through this, but I am.�

JACK

In that moment, as he said that line I was transported back to that night, the night after my poem had been shamelessly splashed across school and the night my father, the one man I respected and looked up to most in my life, had rejected me. I could still feel the cold marble of the stairs pressing against the back of my legs, my hand wound across the banister by my side as tears poured down my own face, words tumbling out of my mouth almost without my consent� ��I'm sorry, Dad. Andie, I'm sorry. I don't want to be going through this, but I am�

And suddenly I was no longer the one holding him, but he was holding me also. Comforting me as I comforted him. My arms circling his back were no more or less important than his arms holding me. We stood like that for a long time, tears gently winding their way down emotionally drenched faces, until finally, inevitably I suppose, he pulled back to look into my face, and I met him, slowly, tenderly, in a long, passionate kiss.

WILL

�I�m sorry� It was a long time before he pulled away -a long time before I would let him- and even when he did it was only from my lips, not from my arms.

�What have you got to be sorry for?� In hindsight it was the most bizarre of situations, I was stood in the centre of someone else�s hotel room in the middle of the night (a middle of the night that felt more like early evening, but it was night none the less) arms curved around a practical stranger, someone I had met only five or six hours before -a guy I had met only five or six hours before, asking him why he had stopped kissing me. But at the time, it felt the most natural thing in the world.

He sighed, the rush of air through perfect lips, I had to close my eyes to block out the lines of my poem.

�You just came out to me, man� There was laughter in the hopelessness of his tone �You do not need this right now� He attempted to pull away, but I wouldn�t let him, my arms still knotted behind his back holding him close.

�Perhaps this is just what I need� This time it was me who lent across to close the gap between our lips, losing myself in the warm sensation of another, the sweet caress of his lips and tongue.

However again he broke away, managing to slip from my embrace.

�I can�t believe I am the one stopping this�� he said with a laugh, stepping backwards to sit back on the bed, as he had done when I was reading my poem �Aren�t you just a little freaked out?�

�Why, are you?� My immediate reaction.

�Well� I�ve had the best part of two years to get used to all this, you just admitted to me that you wrote a love poem about a guy what? Five minutes ago?� A pause �A moment ago you told me you were scared, now you seem to be cooler than I am�

�I�m terrified Jack,� Simple, to the point, someday I could become a writer �but it feels right�

That shut him up, I thought to myself with a smile, during his long and startled silence, before slowly I walked forward, and dipping my head to meet his lips once again, slowly pushed him back onto the bed.

JACK

We stayed up all night.

Wahey! I hear you cry. Go Jack! Score! Well-done man! It�s as if I can actually hear the jock�s cries inside my head after they finally get that blonde into bed that they�ve been herding like a wild boar for the good part of the last week. Well it wasn�t like that.

We talked. All night. Laid there in the light of an unfamiliar streetlamp, legs entwined atop a hotel bedspread that smelt faintly of disinfectant, washing power and cigarette smoke, we faced each other in the semi-darkness and spoke of all the things we�d ever wanted to speak about.

We started off slow, gently wandering the more pleasant halls of our minds, talking of home and friends and family, happy memories from our childhood, warm home baked times that you are glad to look back upon. It took us a while but gradually we moved on to the more emotional and painful topics, old relationships, past experiences that perhaps we wouldn�t remember with a smile in 50 years time, my last few years, coming to terms with who I was, and how people had reacted to it. I spoke of Ethan and Tobey with the same amount of emotion I gave to Jen and Grams, as even though they�d only played bit roles, they were just as important in shaping who I�d become.

We lay and listened to the sound of the English rain lapping at an English windowpane, its warm, moist scent filling the room and the space around us on the bed, wrapping us in feelings not dissimilar to home. And we talked, meandering through topics and feelings I�d never known, never felt, never experienced for myself, and ones that I knew all to well. He smiled in the lamplight and held my hand as I recited my poem to him as best I could from memory, filling him in on the story of its telling: Mr Peterson and Pacey, Jen and Ty. Before I made him laugh with the trials and tribulations of the relationship between Dawson and Joey, the fated couple, ever to walk the earth both together and apart simultaneously.

Wound throughout my own tales would be stories of his, images he created in my mind of a beautiful town perpetually bathed in summer, housing an assortment of people I could see almost as well as the people I was describing to him. Jake and Hamilton, the star crossed lovers, their relationship just as pitted and treacherous and Dawson and Joey�s, but ultimately a lot more joyful. Bella, his childhood friend, as close to him as Andie was to me, and then finally Scout, a name that I could sense ran painful in his mind but a name I would not allow him to skirt around.

�He�s been my roommate since I first moved to Rawley School, and he�s not just been that, he�s my best friend��

�...and he�s straight?� It was more of a statement than a question.

He nodded, before smiling gently through the murky darkness, �I mean, so was I until a few minutes ago�

�More like hours now,� I smiled, �It�s easy to do you know, fall for someone like that� So easy, I thought to myself, that I�d managed never to do it. Well, unless you counted Pace, but even I didn�t see that as anything other than gratitude anymore.

A hand, stretching across the distance between us to gently stroke my cheek, pulled me from my thoughts.

�Do you think that�s what happened with us?�

I smiled �We were never just friends�

�That�s what frightened me�

�I can understand that�� Our tones were soft, quiet in the night, eyes perpetually locked.

�It�s scary, you know, not knowing who you are anymore�

I nodded slowly, �You don�t need to tell me that�

�Well,� He said slowly, after a pause, �I�m not sure I feel like that any more� There was silence for a moment, as I felt a look of confusion cross my face, before slowly, a smile flickering across his lips, he lent forward and touched them again to mine, breaking away slowly to rest his head beneath my chin, pressed up against my chest.

�Night, Jack� He said on an exhale as the morning light peeked through the curtains beyond his blonde head.

�Night�

WILL

�Wake up lazybones,� I said as brightly as I could muster as I re-entered the sleep-thickened room, now fully clothed and awake, rather than when I had left half an hour before. The figure still curled on the bed did not stir �Hey you,� I continued, throwing the two room keys on the sideboard and moving towards the bed �wake up� Resting my hands on the duvet I lent over to get a look at his face, gently placing a kiss on the top of his nose.

Finally he groaned, scrunching his face against the bright morning �What time is it?� He asked finally, eyes still closed.

�Time to get up� I said with a smile, he was clearly not a morning person

�What time is it really?�

�Ten�

Another groan �That means its only 5 American time�

�What do you mean American time? There are too many to count� I stood back up, poking him in the ribs as I did so �And anyway, you should be functioning on English time in England�    

�Not if it means I have to get up at five in the morning� He rolled back over onto his stomach in preparation to go back to sleep, but I wouldn�t let him, crouching down low again to find his face, now turned toward me

�I�ll make it worth your while,� I whispered as seductively as I could into his exposed ear, and finally was rewarded with some movement, as laboriously he rose from the duvet, eyes flickering open as he stood up beside me, out of bed even if he wasn�t properly awake. Slowly he held his arms out to me ��but if you think you�re coming anywhere near me with morning breath, you have another thing coming� And then, mission completed, I mischievously left the room.

JACK

�Is it possible that you, Will Krudski, are the devil incarnate?� I asked sitting down opposite him at the table, having quickly located him in the breakfast room.

He laughed �Very possible�

�I knew it, that was a trick worthy only of the most evil souls� I shook my head �What have I let myself in for?�

He smiled at me gently, before letting his gaze rest back on his plate.

�No regrets?� I asked after a few moments, my plate of food relatively ignored.

He shook his head slowly, meeting my eye again and lowering his voice slightly in the busy room �No, just, strange, that�s all�

�I�m a lot for anyone to get used to� The lighter the situation, the better. He laughed, exactly the response I had been hoping for. �So any reason for that rude awakening? Or you just trying the new sadistic look?�

�We have rehearsals in an hour�

�Rehearsals?� Perhaps my mind was still fogged with sleep.

�For the presentation evening, tomorrow, kinda the reason we�re here�

�Ahh, I knew there had to be something to spoil my good mood� I smiled, finally picking up knife and skewering my bread roll �So, just out of a matter of interest, why couldn�t I have got another hours sleep?� I was rewarded by another bread roll, grazing past my right ear.


The auditorium was packed, or I should say more packed than you would expect when the only ones who had to be present were the 5 finalists including myself.

�Who are all these people?� I lent over to ask Will as we were shepherded to the front by an overly cheerful woman in her mid-thirties, far too excited to see us.

�I have no idea,� Was his hushed reply �But suddenly I�m a hell of a lot more scared�

�I know the feeling� Expertly the perky woman who had lead us up the aisle showed us our seats at the front of the room, facing the stage, which was empty except for a daunting looking podium made of cheap wood and chipboard. Will and I exchanged a glance.

�Okay, now that everyone�s assembled,� A man I recognized from the day before stood to address the group as a ginger-haired girl of perhaps 17 took her seat beside Will, having been marched to her place by an equally enthusiastic receptionist. He paused for a moment, as if expecting another of us to pop up at any moment �I�m Edward Brown, but you can all call me Ed, you might remember my name from the letters I sent to you all.� There was a general murmur of recognition �Well, I�d like to take this chance to welcome you all here, and congratulate you on getting this far, I�ve read each of your poems and in my personal opinion they are all the very best I�ve read in a long time by a group such as this.� He meant teenagers and I had no doubt that he said that to every group, every year.
�I�d also like to reassure you that you all did wonderfully in yesterdays interviews, they�re a relatively new thing to be introduced in this competition, but it does allow the judges to get a better idea of both you and your poem.� I felt like I was being judged for an annual dog show �Anyway, I�ll pass over to Sophie now, but I�d just like to wish good luck to you all and at the end of the day it�s a shame there can only be one winner� There was a small burst of applause she he sat down, mainly instigated by the bright young woman who took the floor after he did.

�Right, we don�t want to take long over this folks, I�m sure you all want to get off and explore the sights� She giggled, a noise that ran down my spine like a series of electric shocks, I couldn�t tell if she was trying to be American or take the piss �If I could just have you seated in this order, it�ll be the order you�ll present your poems� Hastily she rifled through her clipboard and pointed to the seat that the late arrival had taken, indicating the first name on the list was to sit there �Jonathan Best,� A Chinese-looking boy of about 16 rose from two places down from me, taking his seat as the girl vacated it, �Susan Keats, no relation to the poet I assume?� She giggled again as she motioned to the seat Will was sitting in, he rose to allow Susan to sit, a slightly older girl, long red hair and a ready smile for the woman I could see irritated her as much as she did me. �William Krudski� I smiled and stood up for him as he sat down in my place, aware of our arms brushing as we passed each other �Jack McPhee� The girl sat in the place she indicated for me shifted one seat up to allow me to sit down, meeting my eyes with a smile. �And finally, Lucy Smith� And she nodded. �Well now introductions are over with, I�ll get on and tell you about the schedule for tomorrow evening��

It was a relatively simple presentation. We�d begin with a word from the president of the society that runs the competition, before another word from Ed, the man we had heard from at the beginning to today. These, she told us conspiratorially, were only meant to last for about 10 minutes each but we were to expect to be listening for at least half an hour, something I personally would probably be grateful for the next day. We�d then go up in order, introduce ourselves and recite our poem, as much from memory as we could. The winner would be announced at the end of the ceremony.

Now, I hear you all cry, they never tell you what is supposed to happen if the thing actually goes ahead all according to plan. It�s just not dramatic enough to have a long, involved explanation of the planned version of events when they are pulled off without a hitch only 24 hours later. There is no use in it. Well, here, as narrator of this section I will take this chance to remind you that this is not the movies, this is real life.

�Right, lets all just get to know each other a little better!� My stomach tied itself up in knots inside of me as I looked over to catch Will�s eye, this did not sound good. �I�d like to hear each of your poems, just quickly, no need for introductions, just so you get the feel of the stage� She must be joking, but a quick glance at her overly-perky face made me realise she wasn�t.

We went up in order, self-consciously reciting the poems we had already committed to memory anyway. Jonathan�s was first, his voice giving away his country of origin as, in a broad Scottish accent, he recited his poem �Thunder�. Susan was next, her poem �Cats� ringing clear with a note of true innocence.

There was terror on his face as Will went up to the stand, but he managed to mumble his way through the poem I had heard myself the night before -all he had to remember was that no one other than me in the room knew who it was about. I was next, and suddenly the small crowd didn�t seem so small.

�"Today"� I began, gathering my breath and emotion, stood behind a podium that had looked a lot smaller from 10 feet away.

�Today was a day the world got smaller, darker,
I grew more afraid, not of what I am but of what I could be.
I loosen my collar to take a breath,
Eyes fade, and I see him, image of perfection,
His frame strong, his lips smooth,
I keep thinking, what am I so scared of?�

I glanced up at the captivated crowd, a sight that made me hurriedly look down at my copy of the poem, hopelessly trying to block from my mind the image of Mr Peterson, Pacey and a dozen other students, hanging on my every word and silently banging another nail into my coffin with every one. I took a deep breath, and continued.


�And the worst, I can escape from pain
But these thoughts invade my head.
Bound to my memory like shackles of guilt
With no absolution.
My mind becomes my cell,
My cell, my guilt�
� My life.�