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Everyday, I wear a mask

I have a collection of them

They're my dirty little secrets,

These masks of mine,

My guilty little pleasures

But there's more of one kind than the other

I have a bunch of smiles, you see,

But none of them are truly mine

The happiness never really reaches my eyes—

I wear a face of lies

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Going to school didn't used to be this tiring. In elementary school, for example, it was simple. Writing, reading, arithmetic, social studies, and the simple sciences were what I focused on. I'd learn, have lunch, go to the playground, and then learn some more. If only the older grades had recess. It would probably better the students' grades and mental health. That's what my little brother used to always tell me.

There was a time where school became dreadful and just so... suffocating. It all just became so real, everything a path to becoming a lawyer. As I got less excited to go to school, my father's excitement thrived like a sunflower patch. He would talk about 'the good old days' and give me advice that I didn't really ask for and talk about which courses I did and didn't need to take to be successful. If I actually wanted to be a lawyer, I'd be really grateful for his advice. People would kill for this knowledge, kill to be like the great James King, but not me. I value my father and love him greatly, but I just don't see it in me.

Ever since I was young, I was told that I was my father's son. I was told that I looked like him, that I had his type of presence, his fresh sense of confidence. My grandma would always laugh when she saw me, jokingly saying, "wow, James, you look so young and rejuvenated!" It's flattering, don't get me wrong, but there's this one small thing...

I'm not my father.

"Oh shit, gotta get to class!"

I'm brought out of my thoughts by some student rushing to class. Blinking, I grab my stuff from the bench and head to none other than biochemistry, the class where I'm sort of forced to speak to people. Correction, person. I'm forced to speak to Ethan, a guy I'm pretty sure I've seen hanging around a crowd that aren't my kind of people, to put it nicely.

My seat creaks when I sit in it, so I swap it out for some other poor soul's before grabbing a new book and opening it, waiting for class to begin.

Ethan runs in five minutes late and flashes the teacher a charming smile before taking his seat next to me. "Hey."

"Hey, why are you late? You okay?" I ask.

"I'm fine, just slept in late." He messes with his hair.

"I see." My eyes look him over.

"What?" He snaps.

I jump slightly. "Fuck, don't snap at me. I was just looking at you." I glare.

Ethan sighs. "Sorry, didn't mean to freak you out."

Exhaling, I nod. "What's got you so on edge, if you don't mind me asking?"

Ethan wipes his face with his hands. "Just my friends are being dickheads."

"Ah." I bite my lip, unsure of how to give advice. I've never really had 'friends.' I'm not saying I'm a lonely loser, I'm just saying that I didn't want to be a girl's token gay friend or be asked a bunch of stupid questions like 'well, do you think I'm hot?' by the guys growing up. "If they're toxic, cut them out."

"It's not that simple." Ethan sighs. "But thanks."

"Make new friends." I shrug. "I don't like your friends anyway. They're rude and one of them called me a faggot."

"Oh, so I can only have friends you like?" Ethan scoffs. "How about you just grow some thicker skin."

"Maybe people should learn some goddamn respect. If you condone their actions, then you're no better than they are. Don't you dare plead free speech either. Hate speech isn't a constitutional right. I study law, dipshit." I glare.

Ethan looks down at his feet. "I don't condone their actions."

I nod. "People like that exist to bring others down." My eyes glance at the teacher trying to figure out the projector before I look back to Ethan. "Do you have siblings?"

"Yeah, why?" He studies me.

"I've always heard that friends are supposed to be like family and my brother is nothing like your so called friends." I shrug.

"My friends are my family. I've got nothing without them. Stop trying to be my damn therapist. It's none of your business who I associate with." Ethan glares.

Rolling my eyes, I put my earbuds in and play an audio book, drowning him out and pulling my notebook to write. I already know all this shit anyway. This is why I don't talk to hot guys, I just fuck them. Too much drama.

Ethan turns away and crosses his arms over his chest, deep in thought for the rest of class.

When class is almost over, I start getting packed up, pulling a package of sour candy from my backpack and leaving. I don't bother to see what Ethan's doing, too ticked off to care. Instead, I head to my car and leave campus, driving to my nicely sized apartment.

I arrive to see my younger, seventeen year-old brother, Xander, eating cereal in all of his freckled six foot glory. His green eyes light up when he sees me and he waves excitedly, me collapsing on the couch.

"Boy drama?" Xan asks.

"Yes."

"So you fucked and now he wants to be like exclusive fuck buddies or something? Was his dick too small?" Xander asks, his fingers having space the size of a small piece of candy between them.

"Excuse me, I may be a slut, but I have standards." I snap, eating more of my candy.

Xander nods. "So college isn't going as well as you'd hoped?"

"Nope." I pop the 'p,' glaring at the ceiling.

"What's he look like?"

"He's like..." I draw my brows together, picturing him. "He's hot, brown hair, brown eyes, normal features I guess, but still hot. He has some scruff and his hair looks soft I guess."

"All the better to tangle your fingers in when you fuck." The auburn-haired teen wiggles his fingers.

I punch him despite him being one hundred percent right. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction. Xander whines and punches me back, rubbing his side. I grin and ruffle his hair.

Xander has always been the free spirit of the family, unlike me. He told our parents years ago that 'law is lame and I'm going to do something actually interesting as a career.' He'd be well fit for the field of psychology, as he obsesses over everything about it, reading college textbooks on it starting at the age of ten and still does to this day. This means I'm very careful when talking to him because I don't appreciate getting psychoanalyzed by him randomly.

He's always looked a lot like Mom, Xander. His hair isn't as red as hers and isn't quite as curly, but the freckles, skin tone, and eye color are pretty much exact. Xander has green eyes as clear as crystals, a striking ring of orange around the pupils that you see when you get close enough. However, nobody quite knows where he got his monstrous height from. I got mine from mom and Xander is currently taller than Dad, so we're kind of stumped.

"Whatever, Charlie. Just tell me what happened with this asswipe."

"He's not an asswipe." I grin, holding back a laugh. "He's just misunderstood."

"Oh lord."

I explain what happened in class and Xander cuffs me.

"Don't dog on other people's friends when you don't even know them. They don't want your opinion and they won't appreciate it until they get to a place where they can appreciate you. If you think he should make new friends, maybe you should try being friends with him." Xander crosses his arms. "You're too quick to talk. Get to know him. You don't know the ties between him and his friends yet."

Grumbling, I nod. "I'll think about it. How about we watch some of my pirate movies?"

"Deal. Just try not to get all hot and bothered." He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

I hit him.

"Ouch!"

"Serves you right."

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