Journal,

I stared intently at the words of the book I was holding unhealthily close to my face as I laid on top of my bed. I brought the book down closer to my eyes and watched the words slowly become blurry to the point that they were unreadable. I brought the book out farther away from my face and took note of the fact that the straining tension in my eyes seems to ease up and the words on the page became legible again. This was fascinating, truly.

"What are you reading?" Thomas asked. My eyes left my book and gazed onto Thomas. He was sitting awkwardly in the chair across the room from my bed. Marie-Claire had mentioned him before: the "musical wunderkind". Apparently, she'd found him playing on the corner of a street and was determined to get him an audition for Mt. Inglefield's music department. Marie-Claire had mentioned this a week ago and I had expected that this was the last I would ever hear of it. Instead, Marie-Claire had dragged me into town today to tell this Thomas character that she'd gotten him the audition for tomorrow. I didn't know what was more disgusting, the fact that Marie-Claire invited him back to school to prep him for his audition or the fact that he was so obviously hanging on every word she said like she was a goddess.

"Excuse me?" Thomas asked again, peering over to look at the title of the book I was reading. I blamed this awkward attempt at social interaction on Marie-Claire, who had decided that it would be a good idea for Thomas to sleep in my dorm room tonight.

"I heard you," I replied caustically, and continued reading.

"You don't seem like the friendliest person," Thomas said indignantly and crossed his arms across his chest. What was he, five?

"I'm a ray of fucking sunshine," I bit back.

Thomas rolled his eyes and looked around my dorm room uncomfortably for the next fifteen minutes. At this point in time, I had gotten bored of my book and set it aside. I guess it's time to find out what makes this Thomas character tick. I ran my hands through my hair and pushed it out of my eyes as I sat up on my bed and looked over in Thomas's direction.

"So how old are you, Heifetz?" I asked casually. I was glad that I'd payed enough attention in Music Theory class to be able to think of one famous violinists. Thomas, however, looked at my blankly. Why do I try with these people.

"Fifteen," he replied.

"And you want to fuck Marie-Claire?" I proposed, equally casually.

"What?" Thomas stammered, unable to say anything more for a good thirty seconds. "I just met her. I'm so happy she got me this audition," he blurted out quickly. "I hope you don't think I'm taking advantage of her because that certainly wasn't my intention. I don't want to sleep with Marie-Claire, I just want to audition for this school."

I nodded like I was paying attention, but my interest had peaked at his vehement denial of wanting to bone Marie-Claire. "So do you not like girls then?"

"No, that's not what I meant!" he denied. "I'm not trying to sleep with anyone here."

"Okay, if you say so. Have you ever slept with anyone before?" I asked, putting on the pretense of someone that was truly fascinated; truly hung on his every answer.

"I don't think that has to do with anything," he replied, his self-confidence obviously wavering. "It certainly isn't any of your business."

Virgin.

"I'm just trying to get a feel for you a person," I shrugged nonchalantly.

Thomas opened his mouth to say something, but paused. He thought for a moment and finally spoke. "What does sex have to do with me as a person? If you want to know about me, as a person, you should know that I don't really care about sex. It may be the most important aspect of your life, but for me, everything is about my music. That's what you should know if you want to know anything at all about me."

How boring, I thought to myself. "Are you asexual?" I refused to let this topic drop.

"Isn't that when organisms reproduce on their own?," Thomas asked, looking utterly perplexed. It's good to see that he payed attention in 7th grade science, though. "Are you suggesting that I'm... a chronic masturbator or something?"

I snorted at the grimace of disgust that overlook Thomas. "That's not what asexual means."

Before I had time to speak again, Thomas seemed to catch on to my game. "Do you play any instruments?" he asked.

"Are you a chronic masturbator? You're the one that brought it up."

"You seem like the piano playing type of guy."

"What types of guys are you into?"

"I mean, everyone had to learn to play the recorder in elementary school you must know if you're at all musically inclined."

"Well, all I'm trying to do is figure out your... inclination."

"I already told you the extent of my opinion on the subject," Thomas replied, looking at me oddly. "You're a character, you know? What's your deal?"

"My deal?", I replied, trying to figure out what he was trying to do here. "I guess you could say I'm..." I looked up at Thomas as he looked down at me, patiently waiting for his response. I went through my mind, trying to find a word to sum me up. Hell, that would require knowing something about myself. Stopping to think over my character and motivation once and awhile. Why was I actually trying to answer this question?

"I guess you could say I'm a brave solider. Too precious for this world."

Thomas rolled his eyes and went back to looking at my walls like something interesting would magically appear. I laid back down on my bed and grabbed my book. What an interesting beginning.

There are rooms to make sinners out of such lovely lads.

Dear Diary,

Whoever thought that putting me in a blazer and some awful wool skirt would end well was mental. "There is no way I can make this attractive," I thought as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I pulled my skirt up higher on my waist so that it would look shorter and more... proportional. It didn't help. I sighed and let the skirt fall back to slightly above knee length. I walked over to my dresser and grabbed two hair ties. If I was forced into doing this school uniform thing, I was going to Britney Spears- it. Ponytails all the way.

Xavier, who had previously been adjusting his uniform in the mirror of my bathroom, walked into my room and eyed me up and down. I shrugged. No improvement. Xavier, on the other hand, looked fantastic. Doesn't he always? Don't you just freaking hate that? The prep boy look was doing him favors, especially with the casual way he styled it with his slightly unbuttoned shirt, jacket, and undone tie. He looked into my full length mirror and tousled his hair. He definitely seemed to be going for the "Just been shagged" look.

"Would you fuck me?" he asked me as he continued to stare at his reflection in the mirror. I didn't reply and he smirked. "I'd fuck me. I'd fuck me hard."

"No wonder you started being into guys," I murmured under my breath. "It's the closest you can get to actually having sex with yourself."

"What was that?" Xavier asked, finally tearing his eyes away from his reflection.

"Nothing, honey," I replied and smiled sweetly. He smirked, obviously having caught what I had said the first time around, and pinched my cheek. Geez. I hate that.

Xavier grabbed his book of the day, The Metamorphosis by Kafka, and collapsed onto my bed. "Remember when we had different dorm rooms?" I chuckled.

"We still do," Xavier replied off-handedly. "My dorm room is for storing my book collection and my drug collection. And for sex."

"And my dorm room?"

"Your dorm room is where we pretend to be healthy, normal human beings," Xavier said, looking up from his book and grinning widely.

Gotta love it.

I Like A Boy in Uniform

This morning as I approached my closet, I dreaded what I'd have to adorn for the rest of the school year. I love classy clothes, don't get me wrong. But I don't like boring classy clothes. I like expensive suits with a vest and a dress shirt and a tie and a breast pocket with a fancy silk cloth in it. But my idiot father decided he'd rather have everyone in the school look the same.

There was a lot of arguing on my part. I wouldn't let my dad dress the boys up in black slacks, a plain white dress shirt, a ruby red tie and polished black shoes. What a bore. The girls, I could care less about. I'm sure they'd all look adorable in their black skirts, short high heels, white dress shirt and red tie. Genevieve would fawn over herself in the mirror, I'm sure. But I didn't want to blend in with everyone else. And if I'm forced to dress like every other knave in this school, we might as well look like we didn't let our headmaster dress us.

There is one good thing to this whole uniform situation. Xavier Beckingham. He'll walk into class looking disheveled and uncaring. I'll have to keep myself from getting a hard on imagining him coming in late because he was too busy having sexy with some gorgeous bloke.

We do have suit jackets (blazers for the girls) but those are optional. I would wear the jacket if it didn't just look like a slab of fabric draped around me. The plain black jackets with the ugly Mt. Inglefield crest on the breast will be forgotten in my closet.

In other news, I've met Marie Claire and Xavier. They're an interesting pair. I feel so bad for Marie Claire because she's so sweet, yet I'll be forced to steal her "boyfriend". But all's fair in love and war, as they say. I'm determined to meet Xavier between the sheets ad make the angels sing.

He plays the violin

Dear Diary,

I stared absent-mindedly at the cars passing by as I stood on the corner of Brightson Avenue and Allegro Boulevard, next to the new boutique that had opened in the town surround Inglefield. I looked down at the bags in my hand and reflected for a moment on the advantages of having rich, divoriced parents who didn't bother you about your non-essential spending on your "emergency" credit card.

Suddenly, beautiful violin music filled the air and shook me out of my reverie. I looked down the street corner to see where the music was coming from, to no avail. The music reminded me of the music my parents played in my room when I was five. They were convinced that having me listen to classical music would somehow make me smart. I chuckled to myself. It'd made me smart enough for Mt. Inglefield.

I once again broke from my nostalgic reminising and looked down the other street. On the corner, a couple of blocks from where I was standing, stood a guy in a worn out jacket with a violin, producing the most excellent music I'd heard in awhile. And this is not to imply that Mt. Inglefield doesn't have an excellent musical program, either. My mouth dropped open when mystery violinist turned to face me. He looked my age!

I walked down the block and watched him in awe. He was cute. Adorkable, really. He had slightly curly cheasnut hair and deep cheastnut eyes. There was something about him and his music that was so sad, but so optimistic.

"Bravo!" I called when mystery violinist finished his performance. People around us clapped and moved on. "What were you playing?" I asked.

"A piece from Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto," mystery violinist answered and grinned. "It was shit, though."

"Really?" I asked, shocked. Sounded bloody brilliant to me.

"It's your fault, too," he replied. "I couldn't stop staring at you."

I grinned at him. He seemed so sweet. Could I help but love him and his lame flirting? "My apologies," I replied with a genuine smile. "How old are you? You seem my age."

"15," mystery violinist replied. "My name's Thomas. You?"

"Marie-Claire," I answered. "You're fantastic. Why are you playing on the corner? You seem like you should be playing with the London Philharmonic."

"Starving artist, I guess," Thomas shrugged.

"Do you go to school around here?" I asked, shifting my bags in my hand.

"I'm not going to school at the moment," he replied melancholily. "I had an attendence problem at my last school because of little stints like this, and I was recently dismissed."

My mouth dropped open. "You cannot be serious. You have to try out for the music program at my school. It's fantastic, really. And they have great scholarships. You'd get in, absolutely."

"Where do you go?" Thomas asked, with a distanct look in his eyes like he was indulging me so I could feel like I helped some poor, straving artist.

"Up the way, at Mt. Inglefield," I replied nonchalantly. It was Thomas's turn to look surprised.

"That's a pipe dream. There's no way a kid like me could get an audition there. Nothing looks more appealing to schools like that than 'homeless broke high-school drop out'," Thomas chuckled.

I frowned. His argument had merit, but this guy was too good and too sweet for me to leave him like this. "I could get you an audition."

Thomas smiled sadly and began to pack up his violin. I noticed for the first time that it was starting to get dark. "That's really nice of you... Marie-Claire, right? But I'll do fine on my own."

"You don't believe me!" I exclaimed. "Well, at least let me get you dinner. Your performance earned you that." Thomas looked at me, unsure. "Please, I'd feel awful if I left you like this."

"Okay," Thomas nodded. "I'm bloody starving." Thomas pulled his bright green cap over his messy hair and smiled. He looked like a little kid.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have a new mission. Marie-Claire Delaflute, cleaning up your streets, one brilliant music prodigy at a time.

Ladies you're damn right, you can't read a man's mind. We're living in two tribes and heading for war.

Dear Diary,

"Where's your other half?" Genevieve asked as I was copying down notes in science class. She sat down in the seat next to me and sighed. I looked up from my notebook and thought for a moment. For a moment, the image of Xavier bending some girl over a desk and going at it flashed in my mind.

"No idea," I replied.

"Probably shagging the substitute gym teacher," she mused and pulled out her notebook.

"Who's shagging the substitute gym teacher?" inquired the handsome blonde boy who Genevieve was friends with. Oliver, I think his name was. The headmaster's son.

"Her boyfriend", Genevieve mouthed to Oliver. Oliver looked at me and smirked.

"He's not my boyfriend," I shot back and glared briefly at Genevieve. She shrugged her shoulder apologetically at me. "He can shag anybody he wants," I added. "And he will", I thought to myself. Now that Xavier was feeling that everyday at Mt. Inglefield could possibly be he last, he seemed to be determined to work his way through the entire student body.

"Anybody?" Oliver asked. "Who's your non-boyfriend?"

"Xavier Beckingham," Genevieve cut in. Oliver's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"What?" I asked anxiously. Maybe Oliver's dad had asked him to keep an eye on Xavier until they could discover the source, or non-source, of his tuition.

"My father talks about him," Oliver shrugged. I gulped audibly. "Apparently, he shagged the school nurse so... forcefully that her desk broke."

Right over Oliver's shoulder, I spotted Xavier, who looked a hot mess. He glanced at Oliver, over to me, and smirked. "The nurse recovered," Xavier stated and threw his jacket down on the seat that Genevieve was currently occupying. Genevieve glared at him and stood up so that he could reclaim his rightful seat. "The desk did not."

"Beckingham, I presume," Oliver mused, looking at him up and down with an amused glint in his eyes. Xavier nodded, and turned to face me.

"I say we go over to your house in town tonight," Xavier declared excitedly. "You're mother is still in Niagra Falls, right?"

I nodded. "And my father is with his girlfriend in Peru."

"Girlfriend?" Xavier sneered. "I thought your father had some great revelation that he was into guys."

I shrugged. "Apparently he goes both ways."

"Sounds like my type of guy," Xavier murmured. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Oliver, who had been talking to Genevieve, had picked up on that part of the conversation and was smirking triumphantly as Genevieve chattered on obliviously.

"So, my house then?" I asked. Xavier nodded and Mrs. Done finally began teaching the class. Halfway through class, I looked back at Oliver, who was staring out of the window and then back at Xavier. Please let this happen, I thought to myself. Xavier might not think that sex alone can keep him here, but I disagreed. Please.

My fingertips are holding on to the cracks in our foundation

Dear Diary,

This morning I woke up to the melodic pacing of Xavier, back and forth, back and forth across my dorm room floor by my bed.

"What?" I mumbled as I buried my head in my comforter, though I suppose it came out more like "Whuuuuuu?"

"Bloody hell," Xavier exclaimed indignantly. "Someone chose today of all days to sleep in past third period."

"We have school today?" I asked incoherently.

"We have school today?" Xavier imitated with that pinced, nasty look on his face that he gets when he's past the point of acting clever and is on to the immaturely childish reaction phase. "You have school today. I... I, well I can look forward to a lot more days of sleeping in!"

I rubbed my eyes to clear the sleep haze I was seeing through. "Whatcha mean?"

"I'm dropping out," Xavier announced resolutely.

"What?!" I yelled and jumped out of my bed. God, not the day to wear Hello Kitty shorts to bed.

"Did you see him? Did you see the fucking ponce?" Xavier seethed venomously. "Walking around like he owned the bloody school. Because he fucking does!"

"Oliver?" I asked, trying to connect the dots in my head. "Geneveive's friend? The headmaster's son?"

"Correction," Xavier growled lowly. "The new headmaster's son. Our old headmaster decided to retire to the Bahamas." Xavier sighed and looked at me pointedly. I wasn't grasping the dilemma here.

"Marie-Claire, remember the Great Compromise?" Suddenly, I realized what Xavier was talking about. "The Great Compromise" was the term that I had lovingly given to the mysterious method in which Xavier's deadbeat and broke mother ("ex-mother", according to Xavier) had gotten him a place in one of the most prestigious academies in England. Without the terms of the Great Compromise, there was nothing Xavier had to tie him to the school.

"Xavier..." I murmured softly.

"There are worse things that could happen to a bloke then public school," he laughed bitterly.

"You can't leave," I snapped. "You don't understand; I will slit my wrists if I have to deal with this school without you. I will pay your tuition."

Xavier smirked. "You would pay my tuition and you won't fuck me?" I blushed magenta for a second.

"Sorry, hun," I threw back. "But you've never gotten me drunk enough."

"I'm kidding. You're not rich enough to send me here."

I sighed and realized he was most likely right. I thought for a second of every solution possible.

"Oliver's gay!" I exclaimed suddenly. "Genevieve told me!"

"Congrats?" Xavier replied and looked at me questioningly.

"Use sex. Make a great compromise of your own."

Xavier chuckled and collapsed on my bed. "Those tactics only work in soap operas. No sex, even with me," Xavier grinned, "would be worth a $40,000 education."

"You have to try," I sighed.

"I'm a whore, but I'm not a desperate one."

"Public school," I stated for emphasis. "Public school."

Xavier sighed and buried his face in his hands. "This school is my only chance," he said softly. "This is my only chance to not end up some deadbeat teenage father slag who works at a fast food restaurant and does heroin every morning."

"We'll get you out of this," I murmured as I sadly considered a future without Xavier.

"Thanks," Xavier sighed and laid his head down on my lap as he curled up on my bed. "You won't. But thanks."

That's Why I Love This Town

Mt. Inglefield Preparatory School. My new home. Daddy’s new work place. A world of new opportunities, relationships and dicks.

Redmond. Oliver Redmond. Most people think it’d be terrible to have their dad working at their own school, being able to watch them constantly. But I really enjoy it. It only reminds people even more obnoxiously that I’m richer than the majority of them. Maybe there are two or three kids who are nipping at my father’s heels or even as rich as I am. But most of them can only dream of the salary my dad makes.

If being rich doesn’t define who I am, then being the most openly gay person you’ll ever meet definitely does. At thirteen I realized I wasn’t like other boys but rather I liked other boys. And if I’d rather rub my cock on a guy instead of a girl, then so be it. And I might as well let people know. How else am I going to get any action? Maybe I’m too upfront about being a homosexual but at least people know my name.

My first impression of Inglefield was a satisfactory one. Upscale, fancy, expensive. Although, luckily for me, my dad doesn’t have to pay any tuition since he’s the headmaster which means more money for me to spend on luxuries. This situation, I decided, was not a bad one.

My dad turned me loose so he could go to his office. I successfully found my way to the boys’ dormitories. My father got me a room all to myself. Of course, I wouldn’t mind sharing it with another guy as long as he was hot and boffable. But having a room to myself also has its positives.

Once I dumped my luggage in my room, I decided to talk a walk around Inglefield and gauge the people here. As I walked down the hallways of the dormitories, a brunette was walking towards me. Cute, well-sculpted, obviously gay. Exactly my type.

“Hi there,” I said with a huge grin, hoping my appearance would win him over.

“Uh, hi,” He said, slightly startled. “Are you new here?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “The name’s Oliver.” I informed him as I stuck my hand out. “And you are?”

“Charles,” He returned, shaking my hand awkwardly. I pulled him in, pressed him against the wall and shoved my tongue down his throat. After a few hot moments of both of us enjoying it (even though he was hesitant) Charles shoved me off of him.

“Bloody hell!” He shouted. “What is your problem, you bloody ponce?”

“Obviously in denial,” I commented. “You’re too much effort. I’m sure there are other poofs around here.” I nodded and left to walk to the girls’ dormitories, looking for an old family friend. Of course, I didn’t know where he room was and I didn’t know if she had a cell phone so I waited outside the dormitories until she would, hopefully, walk by.

Finally, she walked by. I stood up and waved to her.

“Genevieve!” I called. She looked up, saw me and smiled widely.

“Oliver!” She returned as she hurried over and hugged me. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” I returned. “How are you?”

“I’m doing fine,” She answered. “What brings you here?”

“My dad’s the new headmaster here so I’m attending the school.”

“That’s great!” She told me. “I bet you’ll love it here.”

“Oh, I think I will,” I commented. “Hey, do you know a guy named Charles?”

“Yes, actually,” She said bitterly. “We broke up recently. He’s a total tosser.”

“He’s also an in-denial poof.”

“Really?” She asked.

“It’s obvious,” I told her.

“Really?” She inquired again.

“I’d tell you to ask him but I don’t think he’d admit it,” I replied. “Well, it’s been great to see you but I think I’ll be going back to my dorm now. I hope we have some classes together.”

“Me, too,” Genevieve said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I nodded and went on my way. Mt. Inglefield isn’t bad at all. Let’s hope it will be as fun as it seems.

Nero fiddled while Rome burned.

Journal,

The first thing that struck me when I woke up is that my head is pounding. I squinted my eyes to avoid a stream of sunlight that is seeping through the curtains and touched my temple. I felt the pulsing of blood moving into my brain, and for a second this thought made me want to vomit. I put my hand down and finally noticed the slumbering bundle of sheets and flesh besides me.

"Who are you?" I mumbled, and for the first time it strikes me that my garbled speech and my throbbing head are most likely both the result of heaving drinking the night before.

As expected, the slumbering girl continued to sleep. Despite this, I continued talking aloud. "Where am I?"

A new question entered my mind. What the fuck am I doing?

You'd expect that if you lived like me, if you did the things that I do, eventually you'd stop feeling bad about it. Eventually, the wave of disgust, (or is that drinking induced nausea?), would die down until the point where it disappeared. The truth is that most of the time this sentiment is correct, but every once in awhile your mind goes so slow that everything catches up with you, and you're left feeling... empty.

I grabbed my cell-phone and pressed my only set speed dial.

"Xavier?" Marie-Claire said on the other end of the line. I was about to ask her to come pick me up from where ever I was, and bring some bloody Ibuprofen, when I thought better of it and ended the call. I wasn't going to put her through this again.

As cliche as it sounds, I honestly think that Marie-Claire will be the only person in my lifetime to see me for what I actually and love me despite this. It's not like I don't know that she loves me. It's also not like I don't love her, as weird as that sounds to admit. But I'm not idiotic. I can't change, and if I can, I won't change for long. Marie-Claire is also not idiotic either, and I'm sure she realizes this, and realizes that eventually she'll have to leave me and move on with her life, because I am the cancer that weighs her down. So, yes, neither of us are idiotic, but we're both idiots.

"Can you move over a bit?" an old lady who kept on eying me suspiciously asked me as I stared out the window of the bus on my way back to school. I tore my eyes away from the blur of passing buildings and looked up at her.

"Sod off, grandma."

She gasped and moved farther down the bus to another seat. I took this opportunity to return to my listless staring out of the window.

"Youth these days," said some girl a couple seats behind me. Rolling my eyes, I turned around to confront my adversary. Half expecting to see some girl that I had slept with and then never called, I was instead confronted with Marie-Claire, whose small, barely there smile kind of made everything okay.

"Do you have room for me up there?" she asked. I nodded and she came to sit next to me. I leaned against her side and buried my face in her hair, trying to fight off my splitting headache.

"What are you doing here?" I grumbled.

"I figured you'd done something stupid and were trying to slink back to school unnoticed," she replied.

"God," I groaned and took Marie-Claire's hand in mine. "Why do I ever leave you? I'm happy here."

We must have been a strange sight, I admit. The perfectly perm-pressed princess with her billowing skirt and white head-band; her clean cotton aura constantly getting muddied by my grubby t-shirts and wasteful extravagance. She's all I need. But I can't do that to her. She deserves better than this. She deserves a chance to escape. After all, that's why I leave. Part of it, at least.

"What are we going to do about you?" she whispered into my ear.

"Escape," I replied monotonously. "Escape and let Rome burn."

To visit the old site,

For the older Mt. Inglefield entries, go to Mt. Inglefield Preparatory School.

This, however, is new and improved.