• Chapter One



    Vincent Heart stirred awake from a dream, still not all there as the alarm clock beside his bed rang loudly into his right ear. He reached out a hand, slamming his palm down on the “snooze” button to get the racket to stop.

    “I’m up, I’m up…” He whispered to the alarm clock, but gradually drifted back to sleep. About an hour into his sleep, his alarm clock began ringing again and he sighed when he had to reach out once again and hit the snooze button, though he hit the snooze button there was still a ringing in the background.

    “Oh s**t! The phone!” He got up and rushed downstairs as quick as he could, pulling the phone from its charger. He held the phone to his ear and murmured a drowsy “Hello?” into the receiver. On the other line was his mother who was chastising him for still being home.

    “Vincent, why aren’t you at school!? Did you fall asleep again!?” He winced at her loud voice, drawing the receiver away from his ear. His mother had been working two jobs everyday since his father left them when he was about seven years old. Though the jobs never paid much, Vincent did his best to help his mother whenever he could; he imagined not going to school wasn’t helping her at all.

    “Vincent? Vincent!? Are you listening to me!?” He placed the receiver back near his mouth and muttered a forced “Yes” into the phone. After she finally stopped nagging, his mother gave him a hearty good-bye and told him to head off to school. Vincent dropped the phone onto the couch and grouchily walked back upstairs into his room, readying himself for school. He pulled out a brightly colored t-shirt with the words: I’M SO GAY, I CAN’T EVEN WRITE STRAIGHT. The way the words were printed made them look crooked to accent the quote on the shirt. To match the brightly colored shirt, he pulled out a pair of faded pink skinny jeans and slid them on while slipping his shoes on at the same time.

    By the time Vincent had walked out the door, he was ready to fall asleep once again, but the weight of his back-pack kept him up and walking. He slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out an orange iPod shuffle and a pair of bright pink headphones. He clipped the iPod to his belt loop and slid the headphones over his ears, his head bobbing the moment he turned the musical device on. Music blared into his ears, people stared at him but he didn’t really have time to care.

    Once he arrived at school, Vincent meet up with the principal in the main office. He got the usual lecture on how he’s being “irresponsible” and “won’t go to a good college if he keeps this up.” Vincent was eighteen years old, a senior in high school; he knew how to take care of himself. The principal wrote him a slip for being tardy and set Vincent on his way to class, telling him how tacky his out-fit looked all the while. Vincent waved a dismissing hand, throwing a “Thanks for the fashion advice.” Comment out into the air before power-walking his way up the stairs to relinquish himself of such a burden.
    Vincent reached his class-room, peering into the small glass window on the door before silently slipping in. He managed to make it in without the teacher noticing him, but once he sat down a squeaky chair gave him away.

    “Glad you could make it to class, Mister Heart.” Vincent rolled his eyes, his teacher always liked to use “Mister” or “Misses” to address people, it ultimately just made the students look stupid. Then again, making students look stupid was what Mr. Davis was good at. One time he asked Vincent a math question, in the end he didn’t know the answer and Mr. Davis ended up making him a prime example whenever someone couldn’t answer something right. He called it “Making a Queerstake.” He wondered when the teacher was going to finally notice his shirt, but he was too caught up one a note that lay on his desk. He slowly undid the neatly folded paper only to reveal the word “f*****t” in big, out-lined letters. The boy sitting next to him snickered a bit, and Vincent had suddenly found the suspect.

    “Did you write this?” Vincent whispered, trying not to make a scene. The boy didn’t answer; he merely stuck his tongue out in Vince’s general direction, almost as though he was trying to provoke him. Vincent stood from his seat and glared down at the boy, his pale eyelids not even fluttering to blink.

    “I’ll ask you one more time. Did you write this?” He balled his hand into a fist, fingernails scraping at the tender flesh of his palm out of anger and frustration. The boy hesitated to answer, but slowly nodded his head in an uncaring manner. Vince raised his fist to the boy, but the teacher noticed just a moment before he could strike.

    “Vincent, get your a** down to the office. Now!” A few kids laughed, and others muttered and gossiped about his t-shirt as he made his way out of the room in a huff. How was he to be at fault for this? No one should be subjected to being called names, especially when they can’t do anything about it. He rounded the corner, slipping into the office with a sheepish and innocent look on his face.

    “Vincent, you know the drill. The principal isn’t in yet, go sit.” He nodded, rolling his eyes at the lack of attention from his outrageous clothing. Usually the secretary in the office commented on how adorable he looked and how different he was from the main-stream crowd, but today there was nothing. He sighed and trekked to a small room inside the office. It was home to five desks, the ones who got kicked out got to sit in them if they were lucky. Vincent figured that today was his lucky day, once he walked into the room there was only one other boy sitting in there. The boy’s attention quickly darted to him, and then darted away nervously.

    “So, you get kicked out too? What for?” Vincent swiftly took a seat next to the boy, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of his lips for a moment. He noticed the boy was shaking, something that made Vincent quirk a brow. He took a closer look at shaking-boy, noticing a small cut on his lip and a bruise that spread from just underneath his eyebrow to underneath his eye. After examining the shaking-boy’s face, he began to look at his clothes. They were tattered and rips lined his jeans and faded shirt, but he assumed they weren’t like that before. They were designer brand, who in the world would want to tear up expensive clothes and then wear them? Vincent shrugged his shoulders and figured he wouldn’t press on the issue; instead he pulled his iPod out and clipped it to the collar of his shirt. He clicked the “on” button, slapping the headphones over his ears as music blasted into his ears, vibrating his eardrums. The other boy just stared at him, his brow rising in a quizzical manner at Vincent’s wild behavior. Vincent closed his eyes, not minding that he was being stared at so rudely, he slid a hand onto his desk and drummed his fingers against the surface to try and tap out the beat of the song he was listening to.

    “I‘m redneck woman, I ain’t no high-class broad! I’m just a product of my raising, I say “hey, y’all and hee-haw!” Vincent’s voice was audible throughout the entire room; the boy opposite of him just stared blankly, pale eyelids fluttering as his lips curved into a smile. The boy’s green hues darted towards Vincent’s purple-pink colored hair, probably wondering how Vincent got around without being beaten up all the time.

    Vincent’s eyelids fluttered open as the song finished he removed the iPod from his collar and slid it back into his pocket. He neatly wrapped the cord of his headphones and placed them in his backpack. His gaze darted back to the boy who still seemed to be staring at him, Vincent couldn’t help but want to press for what happened to him.

    “So, uhm, what’s your name?” Vincent glanced away from the boy to avoid staring at his bruised eye. He felt rude for even noticing it in the first place, but who couldn’t notice something so distinguishable? After a moment, the boy introduced himself as Dallas Pilom and said that he was a junior in this high-school. He never went into any explanation about what happened to his clothing or his eye, something that disappointed Vincent to the point where he finally decided that he was going to ask.

    “What happened to your clothes…and your eye?” Vincent asked rather casually like it was an everyday question to ask someone, but in truth he felt a lot of sympathy for the boy.
    “Well, I was walking in the hall-way and a bunch of seniors jumped me. They called me a ‘f**’ and punched me in the ribs a couple of times and one of them punched me in the eye. Hence the reason I have a black eye. As for my clothes, they decided that after-wards they were going to take a pocket-knife and tear up my clothing so I wouldn’t be able to walk around school without being made fun of…” Vincent felt for this boy what he often felt for him mother: sympathy. It was nothing he often expressed, for he usually never had anyone to feel sorry for because they’re a bunch of jerks like the ones Dallas was explaining.

    “God, that’s ******** horrible. Want me to kick their asses?!” Vincent jabbed his fist into the air in an eccentric manner, but his enthusiasm faded when he noticed Dallas was not smiling at all. He gave Vincent a tight-lipped look, probably not wanting anyone to get involved; something Vincent was very familiar with. He probably wanted to fight his own battles that way he wouldn’t get made fun of even more. For the rest of the time, Dallas remained silent and unmoving other than a few blinks and breathes here and there. Vincent glanced at the clock, noticing that they only had about a minute left before the bell would ring.

    “Hey, it was nice meeting you, Dallas. I look forward to talking with you again sometime, okay?” Vincent smiled and extended a hand; Dallas did the same, but gripped Vincent’s hand and shook it politely. They didn’t let go for a few moments until the bell rang when Dallas, quite quickly, pushed from the desk and slipped out of the office. Vincent shrugged and made his way out of the office as well, noticing that a few boys were crowding around him to snicker and laugh at his hair or his clothing. Looks like just another day in high-school…He thought to himself and started trekking down the hallway. Dallas is pretty cute…I am kind of hoping I do meet up with him again. The start of a friendship was about to form.