Finding Victor

The apartment’s thin walls seemed to amplify every sound – the distant wail of sirens, the muffled arguments from the neighbors, the constant, low hum of the city. It was a stark contrast to the quiet, sprawling nights of Texas. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d stuck up there now feeling childish and out of place. Felix’s words echoed in my head: “Welcome to the jungle.” He wasn’t wrong. Creekwood High was a social minefield, a place where everyone seemed to have their own carefully constructed identity. I felt like an outsider, a blank slate dropped into a painting that was already complete. The next day at school was a blur of unfamiliar faces and confusing schedules. I tried to focus on my classes, but my mind kept drifting back to Benji. There was something about his confidence, his easy smile, that drew me in. I watched him from across the classroom, trying to decipher his every move, his every word. During a break, I found myself lingering near the library, hoping to catch another glimpse of him. He was talking to a group of friends, laughing, and I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite identify. Envy? Longing? I wasn’t sure. Mia approached me, her smile bright and genuine. “Hey, Victor. You settling in okay?” “Yeah, I guess,” I mumbled, trying to sound casual. “If you need anything, just let me know,” she said. “We’re always here.” Her kindness was disarming, but it also made me feel more confused. She was pretty, friendly, and clearly interested. But my thoughts kept returning to Benji. Basketball practice was a welcome distraction, a chance to release some of the pent-up tension. I moved with a fierce determination, my frustration fueling my every move. The coach, his eyes narrowed, seemed impressed. “You got a real fire in you, kid,” he said. “Don’t lose that.” But the fire was a double-edged sword. It burned with a mix of anger and confusion, a constant reminder of the questions I couldn’t answer. After practice, I found myself walking home with Felix. He had a way of cutting through the tension with his dry humor, a welcome distraction from my swirling thoughts. “So, how’s the whole ‘fitting in’ thing going?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s… complicated,” I admitted. “Complicated is my middle name,” he said. “Seriously, though, if you need anything, I’m here. Even if it’s just to complain about the existential dread of high school.” His words were oddly comforting, a reminder that I wasn’t completely alone. Back in my apartment, I found myself drawn to the internet again. I searched for stories about coming out, about finding your identity. I stumbled upon articles, forums, and videos, each one a glimpse into someone else’s journey. I read about the fear, the confusion, the eventual acceptance. Some stories were heartbreaking, others were hopeful. But they all shared a common thread: the struggle to understand who they were. The wedding, a few nights later, was a sensory overload. The music, the food, the laughter – it was a celebration of family, a reminder of my roots. But it also felt like a reminder of the expectations, the traditions that seemed so rigid and unyielding. My parents, usually so loving and supportive, seemed different. They were caught up in the festivities, their voices loud and animated. But I could see the subtle shifts in their expressions, the way they looked at me with a hint of concern. When my dad made that comment, the one about “flojito,” it was like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t just the word itself, but the way he said it, the casual dismissal in his tone. It was a reminder of the unspoken rules, the boundaries that seemed impossible to cross. I retreated to the balcony, seeking a moment of solitude. The city lights stretched out before me, a glittering tapestry of lives I didn’t understand. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into an abyss of uncertainty. Who am I supposed to be? I thought, the question echoing in the silence. I wanted to confide in someone, to share the confusion that was tearing me apart. But the words seemed to catch in my throat, trapped by fear and uncertainty. I thought about Simon Spier, his story a beacon in the darkness. He had found his way, had navigated the treacherous waters of coming out. But his journey felt so distant, so unattainable. I looked at my phone, the screen reflecting my own confused face. I typed a message, then deleted it. I typed another, then hesitated. Dear Simon Spier, I started, then stopped. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to ask for help. I didn’t even know what kind of help I needed. I closed my eyes, the city sounds fading into a dull hum. I was lost, adrift in a sea of questions, with no map and no compass. And the only thing I knew for sure was that I was alone. ******** The Ferris wheel. It was a cliché, I knew, but there was something magical about being suspended high above the city, the lights blurring into streaks of color. Mia and I had shared a moment up there, a brief connection that felt… significant. Now, back on solid ground, the aftermath was a whirlwind. Suddenly, everyone knew my name. I was “the new kid who went on the Ferris wheel with Mia Brooks.” It was like I’d been anointed by royalty, catapulted into a social stratosphere I hadn’t even known existed. People who’d barely given me a second glance in the hallways were now smiling and waving. It was strange, exhilarating, and a little terrifying all at once. Mia, for her part, seemed unfazed by the attention. She treated me with the same easygoing warmth, but there was a new intensity in her gaze, a subtle shift in our dynamic. It was clear she was developing feelings for me, and I didn’t know how to process it. “So,” Lake said, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “the Ferris wheel, huh? Spill.” We were sitting at our usual lunch table, the noise of the cafeteria swirling around us. Felix was engrossed in some obscure comic book, oblivious to the social drama unfolding. “It was just… a ride,” I said, trying to downplay it. “Just a ride that launched you into the stratosphere,” Lake countered. “Don’t play coy, Victor. We all saw the way you two were looking at each other.” Mia blushed, a delicate pink tinting her cheeks. “Lake, stop it.” “I’m just saying,” Lake continued, undeterred, “someone’s got a crush.” The word hung in the air, thick with implication. I felt a surge of panic. Did I have a crush on Mia? She was beautiful, smart, and funny. But… there was still Benji. The thought of him sent a familiar flutter through my chest. He was always there, in the periphery of my vision, a magnetic force I couldn’t ignore. “Speaking of crushes,” Mia said, changing the subject, “we’re having a stoplight party this weekend.” “A stoplight party?” I asked, confused. “Yeah,” Lake explained. “You wear a color that represents your relationship status. Green means single, yellow means it’s complicated, and red means you’re taken.” “Sounds… interesting,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. The idea of the party filled me with a mixture of excitement and dread. It was another opportunity to navigate the confusing social landscape of Creekwood, another chance to feel like an outsider. But there was also the possibility of seeing Benji, of maybe even talking to him. The thought sent a jolt of nervous energy through me. In the midst of all this social upheaval, I realized I needed a job. The basketball team fees were a significant expense, and my parents were already struggling with the move. So, I started looking for work, scouring the local businesses. That’s how I ended up at Brasstown, a cozy coffee shop with mismatched furniture and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. It was a far cry from the bustling city, a small oasis of calm. And, to my surprise, Benji worked there. “Hey,” I said, my voice catching in my throat. He looked up from behind the counter, his eyes widening slightly. “Victor, right? What are you doing here?” “I’m… applying for a job,” I said, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Well, you’re in luck,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “We’re hiring.” He introduced me to the manager, a friendly woman named Sarah, and I filled out an application. The whole time, I could feel Benji’s gaze on me, a subtle curiosity in his eyes. And then, the bombshell. “Benji’s actually the assistant manager here,” Sarah said, gesturing towards him. I blinked, trying to process this information. Benji, a teenager, the assistant manager? It didn’t make sense. In the film, he was just a student. It felt like another piece of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. “So,” Benji said, leaning against the counter, “you think you can handle the caffeine rush?” “I think I can handle anything,” I said, meeting his gaze. I got the job. The week leading up to the stoplight party was a whirlwind of anticipation and anxiety. Mia and Lake talked about their outfits, their excitement palpable. Felix, surprisingly, seemed interested in going. “I’m going to wear red,” he declared one day at lunch. “Red?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re taken?” “By my undying love for Lake,” he said dramatically. “But she’ll never know.” Lake rolled her eyes. “You wish, Felix.” The night of the party arrived, and I stood in front of my closet, a sea of clothes mocking my indecision. I finally settled on a yellow shirt, the color of "it's complicated.” It felt appropriate. The party was at someone’s house, a sprawling two-story with a backyard that seemed to stretch on forever. The music was loud, the lights flashing, and the air thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation. I spotted Mia almost immediately. She was wearing a vibrant green dress, her smile radiant. She looked stunning. We talked for a while, catching up, and I felt a sense of ease in her presence. But my eyes kept wandering. I scanned the crowd, searching for Benji. And then, I saw him. He was wearing red. My heart sank. Red meant taken. It meant he was with someone. A wave of disappointment washed over me, a sharp pang of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy. I tried to focus on Mia, on her laughter and her stories. But the knowledge that Benji was with someone else hung over me like a dark cloud. Felix, true to his word, was wearing red. He was hovering near Lake, trying to strike up a conversation, but she seemed more interested in Andrew, who was also wearing red. It was a mess. A tangled web of unrequited feelings and unspoken desires. Later in the night, Andrew approached me. He was wearing green, his eyes scanning the crowd. “Hey, new kid,” he said, his tone surprisingly friendly. “You look… yellow.” “Yeah, so?” I said, defensive. “Look, if you want to impress Mia,” he said, gesturing towards her, “you need to step up your game.” He offered me a green jacket. “Here, wear this. Green’s the color of cool.” I hesitated. It felt wrong, like I was betraying myself. But… maybe he was right. Maybe a little change was what I needed. I put on the jacket. The effect was immediate. People started looking at me differently, their eyes lingering a little longer. I felt a surge of confidence, a strange sense of power. But then, I saw Mia. Her eyes met mine, and her smile faltered. She looked at the jacket, her expression shifting from confusion to hurt. And then, she walked away. I ripped off the jacket, the feeling of triumph evaporating in an instant. I’d made a mistake. A big one. I found Mia outside, by the pool, the music a distant throb. “Mia,” I said, my voice pleading. “I can explain.” She turned to me, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. “Explain what, Victor? Why you felt the need to change yourself to impress people?” “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said. “I just… I wanted to fit in.” “And wearing a green jacket was going to help you do that?” she asked, her voice incredulous. “No,” I admitted. “It was stupid. I was stupid.” I took a deep breath. “I was wearing yellow all along. Andrew just gave me the jacket.” Mia stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile crept onto her face. “You were wearing yellow?” she asked, her voice soft. “Yeah,” I said. “It’s complicated, remember?” She laughed, the sound light and melodic. “You’re a mess, Victor Salazar.” “Yeah,” I said. “But I’m your mess.” We stood there for a moment, the tension between us easing. The music pulsed in the background, a reminder of the chaos inside. I still didn’t have all the answers. I was still confused, still trying to navigate the complexities of my feelings. But in that moment, with Mia, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could figure things out. And maybe, just maybe, Creekwood wouldn’t be so bad after all