Title: State Of Consciousness

Rating: T (for now, might go up)

Categories: Romance; Drama/Friendship/Angst

Warnings: Yaoi/Slash/BoyxBoy.

Summary: M/M. Slash. Johnny was twelve, not twenty. He couldn’t of been asleep that long. He didn’t understand anything anymore. Not school, or his family or…why his old middle school bully won’t stop looking at him so weird.

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Chapter Four - Red Frogs

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Left. Right. Left. Right. Okay, walking, down.

In. Out. In. Out. Okay, breathing down. Don’t forget to do either of these things, or you will look like an idiot, Johnny.

Okay, Pep talk, down. I nod firmly and finally step out of the black Cadillac Escalade that my new step dad owns, David wished me good luck, and told me to remember to call if I needed anything. Or if I have a panic attack--okay, that’s a little bit of my editing there, but oh God. Just…calm down. Just because they’re older doesn’t mean their more mature, right? College, they like…drink, and do drugs and stuff, right? I’m not going to do that.

See, I’m already better than them. Let’s go. I shifted my bag on my shoulder and held onto the map as though it was a life line. There were others walking around as well, a few with maps too, but most without, and I felt like even more of a looser. I shook my head and followed directions the drawing said to go, making my way through the many walkways, finding the right building and going forward into it. I almost run into a someone, a tall burly guy with curly hair.

“Move it,” He growled and pushed me out of the way, and I moved out of the way, because apparently I weigh nothing. Seriously, I almost floated out of the man’s way . Damn coma body. I stumbled slightly and catch myself on a wall, taking a deep breath and look around to make sure no one saw.

There are plenty of people around, but they aren’t really paying attention. Not sure it that’s a good thing or a bad thing yet, but for now I’ll go with good. I straighten myself, look at my map again, making a left and then walking for a little while down the hall and then to the right…Okay. Here we are.

Basic Photography. So far there were only five people in the room, four of them talking to each other and the other, a girl with pale skin, black hair with purple and blue streaks, purple lipstick, a lot of eyeliner and mascara, combat boots and too many piercings to count without taking your shoes off. She’s thin and good looking, in that ‘don’t mess with me’ kind of way. Goth-Alert.

I sat in the back, but not too close to her, slumping down into my seat. I bent over to take the book for this class out,, gripping it and setting it on the table before sitting up.

Ms. Goth is suddenly sitting right next to me. I practically yelp, and she looks up, and I notice her hands for the first time. They remind me of mine, slender, small…damn coma hands. Hers are more pale than mine somehow, but of course I’ve been getting outside for walks everyday as part of my health plan, so I suppose I’ve gotten some sun.

“Did you teleport?” I asked slowly, looking at her in surprise. She was on the other side of the room a minute ago…and why’d she come over here, anyway?

She peered at me with bright, electric blue eyes, and said very seriously, “I could ask you the same.”

…What? “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” She smirked at me, the purple of her lips stretching prettily into a smile. “You were totally checking me out over there.”

“Um…no I wasn’t.” I reply honestly, feeling my cheeks warm slightly. I sort of had, but….not for that reason! She just…looks…different…that’s all!

“You weren’t?”

“Nope.”

“Damn,” She hissed, pouting in a way that made her suddenly look much softer than her wardrobe would suggest. Three eyebrow rings, one lip piercing, one nose piercing and…god, how many are in her ears? I don‘t even want to know…“’Cause 12-year-olds are totally my thing.”

I flushed suddenly, darkly, and she busted out into a laughing fit.

“My God, you’re cute.”

“Uh…now you’re checking me out,” I point out, just trying to keep up with the whirlwind that is Ms. Goth.

“Guilty as charged,” She replied with another devious smile. “But in my defense, you don’t look twelve, darling. It’s not my fault. But don’t worry, I wouldn’t defile your innocent little mind.”

“I think you already have,” I informed her, which made her laugh again. “I’m Johnny, by the way.”

“I know, I got the flyer. I’m Jessica.” I blinked and my features contorted into surprised face and she snorted, “What, where you expecting Raven or Misery?”

Well, now that she mentioned it…“Yep.”

Cocking an eyebrow, she replied, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’ll get over it,” I gave a little smile, feeling much more relaxed now that I appeared to be making a friend. I took a deep breath and looked at Jessica, her words from before sinking in. “You got the flyer? What flyer?”

“Yes…all the students were informed that you’d be coming. So that we didn’t go around doing something stupid, so that we’d understand and stuff,” She told me and I frowned in thought, not really liking the sound of that. How’d she know, unless…they had a picture of me? Aw man…it better have been after my hair cut, because I looked like a girl before!

Suddenly, a light flashes in my eyes and I jumped, looking at Jessica in shock.

“That was such a good facial expression,” She explained easily, tucking the camera away, “I like taking pictures of kids, they aren’t as guarded as teenagers and adults. Haven’t learned to shield their emotions yet--but y’know, there’s only so much you can do with five-year-olds, see? You’re perfect, look like an adult, mind like a kid…”

“I’m not a kid. I’m twelve,” I said in the most confident manner I could manage, which only made her devolve into another fit of giggles.

The teacher comes in, an overweight man with a big smile and wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, the type I can tell I’ll like on first glance. First he pulls out a banana, and puts a little folded piece of paper next to it that reads Exhibit A. My brow furrows as I take it in, wondering what it could mean.

Will be made to take pictures of it in various stages? Still in tact, half peeled, unpeeled, just the peel left, and such? That seems like something constructive. Creative. Unique. But instead--

“Welcome to Sexual Education! I‘m Mr. Titlebalm, ” He clapped his flabby hands together, looking out over the class, “First, you put on the condom. Then you put it wherever there’s a hole big enough. Questions?”

My ears flare with heat and I sound out in what is a have gasp and half yelp, “Th--this is photography!”

His eyes train on me, and I can see the wheels turning, and he frowned, “But I gave this lecture especially for you!”

“Gnh…” Is the only sound I can formulate, because now people are looking at me, and their…realizing it, who I am. I can see it. Oh God.

“I’m sure Ms. Drowning-In-A-Pool-Of-Despair next to you can help you with anything you need to know concerning that though,” He barked out in laughed, as did the other people.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” She smirked again, leering at the man, “His name isn’t Titlebalm for nothing. Mnhm.”

More laughter, and I’m just…sitting here. Stewing in embarrassment. She pats me on the shoulder and shakes her head, one of the guys agreeing with the statement about her being ‘hot but emo’.

“Emo, meaning emotional, meaning any person without a bitchload of testosterone, Michael?” She snaps back at him, rolling her eyes and then winking at me and whispering into my ear, “Relax, babe. He makes fun of everyone, it’s a right of passage. No one will treat you differently now.”

I didn’t get that then, but as the class progressed it became more and more obvious. No one stared at me after that, they laughed when a joke came my way, but they laughed at other people when he teased them too. He was…cool, and I saw him shoot me a look here and there as he told us about what we’d be learning and handed out the syllabus and told us the homework.

Homework. On the first day. I know, right? At least it’s just to take a picture of something. Something that scares us. Strange, huh? Well, the man himself is strange. At least it’s nothing too hardcore.

The next class is here, with Mr. Titlebalm again, and so we stay. We, meaning me and Jessica, who in between while Mr. T is going to the restroom, kicks her feet up on the table. Her combat boots make a thud and I jump slightly, having been messing with my camera in the mean time. I looked up at her, blinking again in surprise.

“Something wrong?”

“No, why would you ask?”

“Um…you just squished your book with your boot. I thought you were trying to get my attention or something.”

“Jeez, Johnny, don’t be so arrogant! Can’t a girl stomp on a table without trying to get your attention?”

“Right,” I said slowly, flushing again and rubbing the back of my neck, “Sorry.”

I turn back to my camera and she sighed dramatically. I don’t look up this time, and she says, “Darling, you are much too gullible.”

“And you call me ‘darling’ too much.”

“Ah. Tis true,” Jessica said lazily, yawning and shaking her head, “How long have you been awake, anyway, darling?”

“Erm, a little under six months,” I replied easily and she nodded, and with that other people here filing into the classroom.

“Must be a little weird, huh?”

“A little.”

“If you need any help, y’know, I was actually awake for the last eight years.”

“….You know how to work an Ipod?”

And Jessica was laughing once again, and this time I joined her.

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Okay…physical education. Easy enough, right? No brain power. I’m not the most in shape person, but they shouldn’t be too bad right? Coma boy and all, so…I mean…hopefully not. I heard the coach I have is really hardcore, used to be in the military, and is like the most buff 65-year-old man in the world. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but when he’s in control of how many laps you run, then he seems a whole lot bigger than logically he really is.

He also unabashedly chooses favorites in every class.

At least that’s all based on what Jessica told me about him when I told her I had Coach Wilks. When I went into the gym, most of the other students were there. There were a lot of them, at least thirty, and so I plopped down on the floor where everyone else seems to be. I didn’t know anyone in that class so I didn’t chat, instead pulling out my camera and messing with it for a moment, thinking over my assignment in photography. I don’t exactly like spiders but at the same time, I don’t think it qualifies as a fear. It’s just a general dislike of anything with more than four legs, that’s all. That’s not girly, it’s normal.

Not a huge fan of frogs either.

Shut up.

“Young man, do I look like a fat slob to you?”

For a moment, there is silence, and when no one answered, I looked up and see an old man peering down at me over a huge beak-like nose. I swallow slightly and somehow find my voice.

“Ah…no…sir, you seem…ah…y’know. Fit and such,” I responded, wondering if it was a trick question.

“Then you agree I ain’t Mr. Titlebalm?” He inquired, crossing his arms over his chest and continuing to look down at me. “So this ain’t photography class.. Put that away.”

I was expecting him to say Maggot somewhere in there, but he didn’t. Seems like it would be in his vocabulary though. I nodded quickly and pushed my camera back into it’s case and then into the bag again, flushing slightly.

“Name, photo-geek.”

“Johnn--Jonathan Ackerson.”

“Let me guess, they suggested this class for you, and you thought ‘Hell, why not, just P.E., it’ll be a piece of cake’.”

“No,” I replied, looking up at him now, because that stroked me the wrong way, “I took this class so that my muscles don’t atrophy from underuse because of the eight year coma I just came out of. Sir.”

God. The look on his face. I basically repeated the same thing my doctor said (that’s why I used the word atrophy, which isn’t really in my vocabulary but the Coach seems to know what it means). He stared at me, his eye twitching and his wrinkly forehead wrinkling even more.

That’s when it crosses my mind that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to snap at him.

“Well, shit,” He said with a bark of laughter that sounds much too much like something out of bad cartoon from the bad guy, “You mean Johnny? The Johnny the papers have been on about for the last six months, ya gotta be kidding me! Famous, and has some guts too. Get up here, boy!”

I blinked and slowly stood, making my way over to the man. I wondered briefly if he would sacrifice me in front of all the students as an example. A large hand came down on my shoulder and he was suddenly grinning at me, but I couldn’t tell if it was a friendly grin or a ‘you won’t be alive soon’ grin. The man was sort of scary, but I don’t like adults talking down to me. It’s so annoying.

Especially ‘cause I’m an adult now! Good grief…okay, I need to stop watching Charlie Brown.

“This kid right ‘ere,” He begins, talking like he’s got something in his mouth, and…I’m in front of everyone, Jesus, can’t they do something? He’s going to murder me! “Is what I’m always talking about. He’s gonna be a contenda’, I’m telling’ ya!”

Uh. What?

“Just got out of a coma…!” He went on and I could only stare at him as he rattled on about something or other, just knowing that he wasn’t going to kill me any more. Well then…Finally his speech ends, and his face is a little purple from talking so much, so vehemently. “Now…because we’ve got to get you even more whipped into shape, I’m going to partner you with the best in the class.”

“Uh…thank you, sir,” I managed, a little flabbergasted by the whole thing.

“Polite too!” He snorted and slapped me on the back in a fashion that made me nearly stumble. It’s sad that I feel fragile next to someone so ancient. Er…no offense to seniors or anything, but I don’t wanna feel weak next to them, y’know? “Yo! Crew! Where are you?”

Crew should have registered with me, but alone with wasn’t so familiar. I only ever knew him by his first name, or a combination of his first and last name. Never just ‘Crew’.

“Back here, Coach! Just getting the jump rope.”

And there this ‘Crew’ was, walking into the auditorium, and for a moment the sun from outside blinded me to everything but his tall, sturdy appearance. Broad shoulders and messy hair and a dark silhouette that slowly became more distinguishable as the door closed behind him, eventually fading to a crack.

When the door shut, I saw him, and there was no mistaking it. No one else had that vibrant red hair or those drastically, striking green eyes. As he got closer I even recognized his freckles and the crooked smile he wore, that dimpled in one cheek but not the other. Crew. Crew. He was the eighth grader that liked to humiliate me, liked to stick my head in the toilet and pretend he was going to drown me. Told me no one would care if he did, would probably thank him for getting rid of a ‘pussy like me’.

The eighth grader that whispered in my ear in science class how the frogs could still feel every thing we were doing to them and where silently screaming in agony--the reason I fainted.

The redhead that spilled my ice cream on the floor and then pinned me down and then made me lick it up in front of the entire lunch room.

The green eyed devil that allowed my best friend to go free only if I let him hit me 15 times wherever he wanted…counting them out loud myself.

He was taller, bigger, more ferally handsome as he’d been then, but he was still Archer Crew, and he approached and I couldn’t comprehend anything else. The world around me seemed to blur a little, even the sounds were murky, he was talking, Coach Wilks was too. Maybe to me. I don’t know.

I took a step back, fumbling and taking my camera out and heard a tone of indignation from the Coach but I didn’t know the words. They didn’t form my brain until later that night when I was lying in bed and dreading the next day. I managed to pull out the camera, and the surprised look on his face, Archer Crew’s face, and I snapped a picture.

And then I turned and fled the room as fast as my legs would carry me. At least I don’t have to worry about the photography homework anymore.

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First off, I apologize for using the P word. I hate that word to death…but it fits for how I see the13-year-old Archer being, honestly. Urgh. I hate it though. And wow…um, I honestly hadn’t expected to make the bullying so harsh actually, but then suddenly that’s how his history filled out. I’d thought it just be wedgies or something…characters write themselves sometimes though.

Archer isn’t that big of a jerk now, don’t worry. He’s 21, so he’s had a lot of growing to do since he was 13...Johnny, however, doesn’t know that yet. Also...I'm pissing myself off with the whole 'Tommy' thing. Obviously my subconscious wants this boy to have two names. It is Johnny, please tell me if you catch me at it again. Damn it.

Anyway…I hope you enjoyed this chapter…I did. It was fun. (: Hope you thought so too. Tell me? It's also longer than the others! Happy Mothers Day --if you're not a mother your a daughter (or son), so-- XD! MUAH!

Nilah