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School continued as it did. And I, while giving it more thought than ever, continued to stay in the closet as I do. Before I knew it, a full week passed of me clamping down the gross feelings in my gut while pretending to not see Toru and Daren's low-key gestures of affection at lunch. That, and I had wasted any sort of chance to make the homecoming dilemma with Francesca better in a hazy blur of passing time. I barely managing to conceal my gray cloud of Daren-flavored melancholy from the other guys during the school week, doing the bare minimum of tossing a few well-timed smiles and laughs. With that week lost to the dark pit of the past, already it was time for the big homecoming game, and already I was prepping for it with my team in the shiny, renovated (but still atrociously musky) boys' locker room.

Rob's stress level: 34%

It didn't take long before everyone was all geared up in our bulky pads and green jerseys with white numbers. Everyone was now on standby, eager to get out from musk central onto the field. While we waited for the announcement to hustle on out, most of the team was killing time by chatting about how hyped up they were for the game or expressing their nerves at facing a high ranked opposing team.

I was vaguely aware that most of the players were gathering by the double door exit to the field, but my attention was stolen by a vibration of my phone. I hunkered down on the locker aisle bench to check out the notification, arms resting on my spread-out legs. I stared at a message from Daren, and my ears slowly flattened. 'Good luck with your game tonight. I can't make it, sorry' it read. No winky emojis or anything.

I was glad Daren and I were still friends... glad that he still sent me messages before my games... But it felt like a big fat wedge had been inserted between our relationship and twisted it up into a shitty off-brand version of itself. This message was just so... flavorless. It was a mockery of what we used to have. Even when we were in that awkward friendzone period things were better than this!

Rob's stress level: 49%

"Earth to Space station Robbie!" was the piercing searchlight overcoming the barrier of fog that was my attention span. My ears lurched upwards and I turned to address Scott with his paws on his waist, looking at me wonderingly like I had become an unresponsive lump. "Dude, what're you doing looking at your phone by yourself? Tonight's game is homecoming _and_our big break that'll get us into States. Alistair's about to do his speech and everything," The Polar Bear said cheerfully as he thumbed backwards to the Doberman quarterback.

Alistair began to address an eager throng of football players while standing on an upturned custodial bucket. His face was plastered with a look so intense it could make you shit your pants harder than Xlax. "Gentlemen- Warriors of Grovedale... Tonight, is the night... OF ASCENSION! The night that we let the whole world know that The Grovedale Chargers ARE THE BEST GODDAMN FOOTBALL PLAYERS IN THE STATE OF OHIO!"

"Yeeeeah!" roared the team.

"YEAYUH!" Alistair grunted with a dynamic downward pump of both arms, causing the bucket to lurch sideways. Mildly interested in the zany speech, I peered over at the Dobby, figuring the beads of sweat on Alistair's fur were probably at least forty percent testosterone as he continued his display of hyper machismo, "We're gonna show those Alderson High clowns that they're nothing but a bunch of up-their -own-ass LIMP DICK PUSSIES! "

"Yeeeeah!"

"They think they can just come in on our turf and act like they own the place, but FUCK THAT!!"

"Yeeeah!"

"WE- ARE THE TRUE ALPHAS OF THIS DIVISION!"

"Yeeeeah!"

As part of his act, the Dobby began pointing to individual members of the team, "But don't just think of this this night as a night for the school. It is YOU who will bask in the limelight! This night is about you_Scott, and _you Rob, and you Marty, and you Taro, and you Jayce, and you Sean, and you Chris!" Alistair declared unstoppable enthusiasm as if under divine providence. Well, at least for the first seven names he did, "...and, you... other 23 members of this team whose names I can't remember."

"Hahaha, yeah, we're all so forgettable," said some student whose name I can't remember, to the totally not-forced at all laughter of the team.

Alistair reignited in a flaming tornado of passion, "So make this your night to prove that you are A FUCKING MAN OF FOOTBALL! NOT SOME LOSER BETA BITCH ON THE WATER POLO TEAM, AAAAAAHHHHHHH" the Dobbie screamed in a primal warcry with raised fists, lurching his body this way and that like some entropic entity of masculine energy, sparking a massive roaring cheer from the rest of the team.

Raptor Jesus Christ Alistair, did you OD on redpill or something?!

Scott started chuckling at Alistair's theatrics, before turning to me and patting my shoulders like they were bongo drums, "So c'mon, brighten up dude! I mean, yeah, like 99% of this game is going to be offscreen, but it's still gonna be legendary! We're about to make history here, so spunk up a little, man!" he said, the ridiculously rallying speech continuing on in the background.

The Polar Bear flashed his signature smile at me with a cute twitch of his nose. It was so genuinely warm that... gah, *activates inner anime character voice* I must protect that smile!

With the reminder that there was still good in this world, I turned off my phone and stowed it away in my locker. "...yeah. Yeah, okay! Sorry, I dunno what got over me!" I said, putting my best unbothered poker face back.

"That's the stuff!" Scott said peppily before giving me a well-aimed slap to the buttocks, to which I let out my usual unbothered laugh that belied how much I really enjoyed it.

Rob's stress level 37%

Scott's little intervention brought some much-needed levity to my sulking situation. Sure, maybe I was having a rough patch with Daren, and maybe I still had to sort my feelings out a bit more, but I was doing fine. I was okay. I still had friends (not to mention a sexy hot Polar Bear of a best friend), and I was still a varsity football player. My life was still cushy and not located in a third world country, and I was still planning on going to go to college. And of course, I had a hype football game to perform in, so at least for now, I could indulge myself in getting lost in something else.

I was fine. Yep totally fine. I'm fine guys. It's fine. I'm fine. The whole thing is... fine. I'm fine, alright? Just fine. Completely fine. Fine as fine can be. Fine as wine. Fine as high-grade cocaine. Fiiiiiiiiine.

---

Across the grandiose, pristine, legend-making Grovedale High football field, the Friday night lights cast their great glorious aura. Also a lot of bugs buzzed around them and died. Eyes were drawn to the brand-new incandescent scoreboard that towered in its majesty as frosty autumn air tingled the lips of all in the area; a true night for football. Also some kid with the flu puked on the field's sidelines right before the game started.

On the peanut gallery bleachers sat ranks upon ranks of parents and family in tacky autumn scarves, scoring in the hundreds. They were chatting about mundane middle class American crap, looking at their phones or sneaking sips from alcoholic drinks (I see you Dad) when they weren't watching their cute children/family members bump into each other on the football field. Such was the backdrop as I huddled in center field with my team. Our faces were frantic with a desire to snatch victory away last minute from the clutches of defeat.

Coach Johnson spoke to us with the stern grit typical of a Bear his size, "Alright Chargers, the score is 15 to 17, with only 11 seconds left on the clock. It's the fourth down and we're on the offense at the 48 yard line. We just need three more points to beat the fabled Alderson High Meatheads..."

Thank you for that succinct summary of our present situation that we all know about, Coach.

After Coach's dramatic recap we all took a moment to size up for one last time the Alderson High Meatheads, who probably had an average weight of 300 lbs per player to an average height of 6'3"... They were supposed to be in a huddle during this time, but were instead doing various... other actions.

Two of the Meathead's linebackers, a totally jacked Lion and Mammoth, were having a bloody knuckles contest (followed by a punch to the gut version), while a beefy Elephant on their team injected what was obviously steroids into his left arm. An Alligator on their team was lifting impossibly heavy looking barbells on the court that he procured from somewhere, while their number 38 Hippo yelled out in a feral roar "ME NEED PUSSY!" And there was one irritated Rhino on their team, tapping his foot while starting impatiently at his sports watch, saying "Hope this game doesn't go on much longer, I need to pick up my kid from daycare."

"I swear to God they are not Highschoolers..." Chris commented sardonically, undoubtedly puzzling through a conspiracy theory in his head.

Suddenly Coach's phone started ringing, to which his eyes lit up with sparkly delight (20 bucks that it was his new 'girlfriend'). "Ah shoot that must be the... United Automobile Workers Association. I have to take that," he said before briskly wrapping up the huddle, "So considering the score and time on the clock, there's really nothing for us to do but leave it to Rob to try to make a field goal. Good luck son," he said half distractedly, shoving the football into Alistair's arms before whipping out his phone and racing to the sidelines. I wanted to protest how making a 53-yard field goal was like some NFL shit right there, but coach was already on the phone having a conversation as masculine as only a football coach could have, "Hi Girlfriend! Oh my God, no! Shut up! He did not say that! Oooh, that's to presh, I am just living for that! Oh my God, no, I love you so much!"

Losing my chance to chicken out to the dreaded United Automobile Workers Association, the rest of the team patted me on the shoulders telling me to 'not sweat it' etc. while they mentally crushed me with psychically channeled expectations, especially our elegant quarterback with his lovely indoor voice. "I FUCKING BELIEVE IN YOU BRO! TAKE US TO OUR RIGHTFUL SPOT IN FOOTBALL VALHALLA!" the Doberman all but screamed into my ear before giving me a ribcage-shattering bear hug. I managed to squeeze out enough air to respond, "haha, yeah I'll do my best."

Rob's stress level 45%

With knees now set to wobbling I unleashed a distraught sigh, doubt and anxiety racing around in my head like Marty in a shiny objects store. Scott slinked on over to my side to put his paw on my shoulder, "Hey, don't worry about it Robbie. Even if you don't make it, we'll still have a few more chances to get into states. It's not like it's do or die or anything."

"Thanks Scott, I'll try to kick some tail out there..." I said with my sinking gut feeling slightly eased.

Rob's stress level 41%

I inadvertently looked around as the players bustled into position on the line of scrimmage. My gaze fell upon the line of Grovedale High cheerleaders on the sidelines. I couldn't help but notice that Katie signaled the cheerleading squad to start a new cheer. It had all the usual jumps, pompom jingling, twirls, dominatrix undertones and group throws in it, but the words were... personalized? 'O_O

Chargers, stand up! Stand up and scream!

Stand up to yell for the number one team!

Yeah, Number one, that's what we said,

So if Rob doesn't make this goal, he's fucking dead!

WHO THE FUCK OKAYED THAT?!

God, I hope that was just a stress-induced hallucination, but considering the crazy grapefruit Vixen was head cheerleader, I'm not actually banking on it...

Rob's stress level: 54%

Since my eyes were apparently attracted to anything that would cause me stress, I found myself now looking at the large twelve-tiered bleachers. It felt like I was looking at an audience on a theater stage with the bright field lights enhancing the lowlight darkness of the bleachers, obscuring the profiles of the audience... But I could still make out Dad stand up and cup his paws to shout out "GIVE 'EM HELL SON!"

Staaaahhhp, that's just adding more pressure!

Rob's stress level: 57%

"Hey Rob, get your ass in position!" our team's holder whose name I just remembered (Jules: a tall, light-brown Boar with short tusks and a thick gut) called out impatiently as I remembered where I was and what I was doing, fuckfuckshit.

I darted over to my spot behind the rest of my team, breath uneven, and my desire for comic relief thick. "Please don't Charly Brown the ball on me," I said half-jokingly to the Boar (he had done it before).

Jules squinted at me dubiously from beyond his custom-made helmet that accommodated for his tusks, "Why the fuck would I do that in an actual game? Just get in the zone and try not to mess it up," he said in a brusque tone that was definitely not conducive to me not fucking up. I laughed to disguise my general terror and indignation at Jules' rude comment.

Rob's stress level 66%

Jayce just finished reminding Alistair what play call he was supposed to say, meaning the guys were about to start the motions, oh Gaaaaawd! Don't hyperventilate, don't hyperventilate. The turf of the football field now felt like it was snagging against my cleats. Gravity felt like it was picking on me. I became painfully aware that there were like... a couple hundred people on the bleachers watching me. And the Meatheads were jeering and making slit-throat gestures at me from the other side of the line of scrimmage. Fuck you guys!

I gulped dramatically, even though I think most people don't actually have that instinct when they're nervous, but it felt appropriate. Then I gulped again and again and again until I think I ran out of saliva.

Have I ever made a 53-yard field goal before...?

Alistair roared out the play call, "53 Russian Turnstile Red hop Charlotte Bronte!"

I felt nauseous and dizzy.

Okay Rob, just relax and imagine something that comforts you... something that makes you feel good, like... like...

...Daren's pecs?

What?! No, Rob's Mind I don't want to be thinking about Daren right now! Except... well actually... his pecs were amazing... so round and defined, and those thick nipples... Achk, No that's just going to get me horny! Noooooo I just got a nervous boner, FUCK!

Alistair snapped the ball back to Jules, and the timer on the scoreboard began to drop. My heart began racing like my life was on the line. Thoughts rushed through my head at an unbelievable speed and the world seemed to proceed in slow motion like this was the best part of a porno vid that I wanted to savor.

I DUNNO?! LET'S JUST THINK OF SOME ANIME BULLSHIT TO INSPIRE MYSELF?!

I'm doing this for my nakama!

I must protecc Scott-senpai's smile!

Never give up on your dreams!

I'M POP FLYING?!

AW YEAH, THAT'S THE SHIT!

"ANTI MATTER KICK COURSE DIAMBLE JAMBE FORCE SHOT!" I randomly yelled as I winded forward with a vengeance, my leg full of fiery burning passion. Doing my best to ignore the nuisance of a boner in my pants, I shot my leg forward will all the force I could muster. The ball went soaring on course for the field goal... slightly off center.

But I'm almost always on point direction-wise! Did... did my boner set the trajectory off slightly? Ahhh fuck!

The bumping on the line of scrimmage died down, and all eyes were set on the football's path of flight. It was a mostly clean shot, soaring high and far at an angle slight enough that it might hit the vertical bar on the goalpost, or might go in. It... It was going to go in?!

The ball reached the peak of its ascent around the 80-yard line and began its arch downward, heading toward the goalposts' left corner...

Just narrowly avoiding the vertical bar, the football hit the central bar of the goalpost, careening wildly upward from the rebound. Rotating as fast as any propeller, the football began its descent, falling...

...

...

...

...just short the horizontal bar.

...

I missed the shot by the slightest margin.

Fuck.

With the camera zoomed in, the ball descended in slow-mo, clunking down onto the turn with a reverberating thwack, as if the signal the end... of an era. Coach hand-signed the Alderson High Coach the shameful cross-y paws of forfeit. The Alderson High Meatheads and all their relatives on the bleachers burst into a cacophony of grunting revelry and headbutts as the expressions of my team grew darker. At that moment, the Ph Level of my gut... was 9.

Thus... the jeering began. It came at me from all sides... from the Meatheads, the bleachers, the cheerleaders and even my own team, virulent and vitriolic, like a multi-headed sass demon... I received comments like "Ah, what a fucking let-down!" "Way to blow the game last minute jerk!" from the less savory nameless members of my team. They also shook their heads and spat at the ground by my feet as we made our walk of shame to the unnecessarily large sports drink cooler for our pep talk of defeat.

Scott trotted over to me a quarter way into the walk of shame, slapping his arm around my slumped down shoulder pads and telling me "It was an awesome attempt, bro" with a reassuring grin. But that didn't stop the vicious comments from Katie and her other cheerleader cronies from drifting to my ears, "Way to let down the team!", "And after we, totally like, slaved for like months making that special cheer for you too, like!" and "Was my nip slip not inspirational enough, guys?"

...nor did it stop me from noticing the Meathead's inappositely suggestive gestures and demasculinizing insults, "Rob Hamilton? More like, Rob Ham_isston.Hehe, my puns are so inspirational!",_ "I think that failed fieldgoal just gave me ass cancer!", and "I'm gonna have unprotected sex to celebrate!"

...Nor did it keep me ignorant of the insults from all the disappointed randos in the bleachers.

"Laaaame"

"Go back to India and play Croquet, you stupid Panther!",

"Well darn, I guess we should take that missed field goal as a sign that we really should get divorced, Samantha, you fucking bitch!"

"I bet my children's college fund on that shot! How could you? Now their future is ruined!"

"My terminally ill brother, whose dream was to live long enough to enter Grovedale High, wanted nothing more than to see a last-minute field goal to complete the perfect underdog story of the Grovedale Chargers! THE DOCTORS SAID THIS WAS HIS LAST DAY TO LIVE, AND BECAUSE OF YOU HIS DREAMS WERE DENIED IN HIS FINAL HOUR OF NEED! I hope you're proud of yourself!

...They were right, I was a LOSER!

Rob's stress level: 83%

Where else but the locker room?

My stupid fucking subconscious... conjuring sexy images of Daren's voluptuous pecs all sweaty with his big erect nipples that I just want to thread between my teeth and play around with right before my big moment.... AHHH stupid fucking boner! Taunting and torturing me! If I didn't fucking get hard then the shot would have been slightly more centered and it would have gone over! And people would be celebrating me instead of making comically overstated insults! Also that guy wouldn't have gotten ass cancer!

My ears were drooped lower than Marty's GPA as I sealed my empty locker, sighing profusely. The guys on the team had a few other bitchy and disappointed comments for me, but thankfully the guys in my inner circle weren't picking on me, but their topic of conversation certainly wasn't helping either...

"Dang, that ending was a letdown... and after I ran so hard for that one touchdown I felt like my legs were going to fall off," Chris said with bleary eyes and a yawn punctuated with a few tired smacks of his lips.

"Truly an unsatisfying conclusion..." Jayce agreed as he put on his Realm of Warquest cap that just added more to his ridiculous height.

Marty continued the conversation with a brilliantly deductive comment, "Yeah, if only we had the exact amount of points that a field goal was worth, then we would have won!"

Goddammit Marty...

I moaned at the Bull's tone-deaf comment, letting my downturned forehead bang against the locker and stick to it, arms dangling slack. For a wonder, Marty actually caught on to the inappropriate nature of his comment and tried to console me, "It's okay Rob. I'm sure you didn't mean to _not_get the field goal in!"

Rob's stress level 91%

Still maintaining my moody posture, I caught a glimpse of Scott from the corner of my eye. He had a concerned, distinct non-smile on his muzzle. He rounded on the guys to address them, one arm propped against the lockers casually, other paw turned upwards, "You know guys, at any point any of us could have played better and earned those couple of points we needed. If anything, Robbie did an amazing kick. If we had just given him a few more yards we would have won! Plus it's not like this was the winning field goal of the SuperBowl or anything! So let's lay off talking about the game; it's bumming out Robbie."

The other three, with somewhat guilty looking eyes, agreed to Scott's proposal. Scott turned to me and flashed a comically stiff smile. I disengaged from my overstated posture.

"Thanks Scott..." I said in a grateful, but tired voice.

The Polar Bear inched over to me and slapped me a good one on the back, "I'm here for you, dude. Always."

Awwww, Scott!

Waxing wistful, I responded "Yeah... same here," with a weak smile, muddied by stress. Scott beamed back at me like a fluffy white angel from the North Pole.

Rob's stress level: 85%

I sure was lucky that Scott was here to be all supportive. His fan-service to the gay live studio audience could be frustrating, but he was really such a good and supportive guy whenever I was down, and boy was I feeling down now... Hopefully he wouldn't bring any more of his teasy-McStevie flavor to this low valley in my life... who knew what would happen if my only crutch in this situation turned into another stress inducing pain for me?

Since Scott was, yet again, taking 5ever to the power of Hurry the fuck up to get changed, I lingered in the aisle disinterestedly listening to Jayce, Marty and Chris' banal conversation.

"The dance starts in like, an hour, right? Are you guys still going as each other's plus one?" Marty asked Jayce and Chris casually.

"No... I need to rest and get up early tomorrow to train," Chris sighed enigmatically as if a moody doppelganger had overtaken his body. Raptor Jesus, what the heck is that kid's bet doing to him?!

"You are still escorting Pesto to the dance, right Marty?" Jayce asked in that extra way of talking of his, clearly trying to keep the topic away from Chris' depressing life choices (I could relate).

...Oh great, just what I wanted to be reminded of after I just barely missing the most important field goal of my high school football career: homecoming dates. I was so lucky to have a female compatriot to take out to the homecoming dance after this letdown of a game! ...A crazy, conservative, scheming female who gets off on high school politics and probably eats children's souls for breakfast... fun...

Marty starting giggling creepily with a small stream of drool crawling down the side his muzzle, wiggling fingers dancing around his muzzle, "Yeah, it's a like a dream come true... she's so hot... hehehe, I hope she ravages me like my 6th grade P.E instructor."

WHAT THE FUCK, MARTY?!

Rob's stress level 89%

As I tried to scoop my jaw off the floor from the WTFery of Marty's comment, Scott struck up a conversation with me while Jayce and Chris looked at each other with concerned eyes, "You know Robbie, if it makes you feel any better I'm going to be super embarrassed tonight too!" he said while subconsciously rubbing his abs, flashing me a sympathetic smile.

"You... are?" I asked, deeply curious.

"Yeah, remember that gay chicken game I played with Alistair?"

You mean those incredibly homoerotic hijinks that I've been masturbating to for the past week? I nodded my head. "Yeah..." I said doubtfully, not sure what to expect.

Scott let out a few embarrassed chuckles. "Well, neither of us backed down from the game of gay chicken, so I'm still going to homecoming with Alistair."

NOT THIS BULLSHIT AGAIN!

Rob's stress level: 95%

My eyebrows knitted angrily that Scott would choose my lowest point to continue his unintentional(?) gay-teasing bullshit! "Seriously?! You guys are still doing that? Katie didn't fuck you up for doing that? I don't get the impression that she's the kind of girl who would be okay with that!" I asserted like an angry defense attorney.

Scott's nose started twitching as if in reflex. "Uuhhhh, wellllll," Scott elongated, bouncing his head around while chewing his lips, as if doubting whether to tell me something or not. "Well... maybe she's not totally okay with it but like... you know... I think I wanted to make a statement or whatever."

A statement? Oh God... no... he couldn't mean...

Rob's stress level: 96%

"And what sort of statement might that be?" I asked in a low voice, secretly dreading the answer.

Scott's answer was hesitant in a way that I've never heard from him before, "Well... it is Homecoming Out after all..."

DELIVER ME FROM EVIL IF THIS IS WHAT I THINK IT MIGHT BE!

Rob's stress level: 97%

"It's just for this special one-time thing, so it's not like it's a big deal or anything but-"

NOOOOOOOOO! THIS ISN'T SERIOUSLY HAPPENING NOW , IS IT?!

Rob's stress level: 98%

"-I sort of wanted to let people know that I think I might be sort of-"

OF ALL THE POSSIBLE DAYS HOURS MINUTES SECONDS AND DIMENSIONS IN THE TIME SPACE CALLIOPE YOU PICK THIS TIME AND SITUATION TO DO THIS SHIT?! I NEED TO BE MENTALLY STABLE RIGHT NOW!

Rob's stress level: 99%

"-bi. Even if I weren't playing gay chicken with Alistair I might have gone with another guy, you know? Just to get it out there?"

Rob's Stress level...

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Deep in the recesses of Rob's troubled subconscious...

A catastrophically forceful earthquake was structurally ravaging super-secret military base inside Rob's mind. Doctor Scientist and Commander Sargent stood in abject horror in a militaristic science lab, iron-bound with impenetrable steel door that read "TOP SECRET, DO NOT ENTER". Tens of lab assistance peons that all looked exactly like Rob scurried around the room in panic, or collapsed under the tremors, eyes all sunken and resigned to destruction as they stared at the center of the room. In the dead center of this room towered a massive pillar of a wall, The Wall of Denial , crumbling under the pressure. This wall, protecting the hyper-vulnerable 'Gay Crush' Sector of Rob's subconscious, was an emblem of manliness, fortified with images of footballs, beer, weights, girls in bikinis and fedoras. But those images slowly vanished or split into indeterminable fractions, as the wall entered its death throes.

"By Mitsune Haku, he's gonna blow!" Doctor Scientist cried out, claws digging into the sides of his head.

"It was a good life... secretly sending annoying subliminal messages into Rob's mind, but it seems like this is the end..." Sargent Major proclaimed solemnly. Taking off his military cap to place by his heart, the imaginary Panther saluted all the good men in the room who sent shit memes, unfunny jokes, and inappropriately-timed sexy images of Daren to the forefront of Rob's Mind.

Barely able to keep balance in the tremulous room, Doctor Scientist looked at Sargent Major with eyes of unfettered desire, "I love you Commander Sargent."

Returned the gaze with equal passionate longing, Sargent Major's hard expression melted for the first time ever. "I love you too Doctor Scientist," he cooed, wrapping his fingers betwixt those of Doctor Scientist.

And the two personifications of Rob's subconscious that looked identical began making out sloppily, getting saliva all over themselves. It was really hot.

...And then their whole world collapsed.

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Rob's stress level: 9999%

HAS HE BEEN FUCKING HITTING ON ME THIS WHOLE TIME?!

THAT'S IT, I AM MAX MAXED OUT ON THIS SHIT! I AM DONE! I CAN'T KEEP ACTING LIKE A FAKE STRAIGHT JOCK BRO, NOT AFTER I STUCK DAREN'S FAT COCK UP MY ASS! AND NOT AFTER SCOTT JUST SAID HE'S BI! I'M DONE WITH THIS FUKCING ACT!

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TTTTTTTTTTT HHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHH IIIIIIIIII SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed out right dab in the middle of the locker room, utterly unhinged, toxic vapors bellowing out of my lungs. My fucked-up second mind and internal tension was gone... replaced BY PURE ANGER! NO MORE TOLERATING BULLSHIT! THIS WAS BAPTISM BY BLOODY TRUTH! TIME TO GIVE ALL THESE FUCKING CLICHES A PIECE OF MY MIND!

A wave of harsh silence passed over the vast locker room, and all eyes were fearful of the aftermath of the eruption of Mount Hamilton. "Woah, Robbie what's going on?" Scott asked with startled eyes before I singled in on him like the piece of shit tease himbo that he was.

Paws on his thick shoulders, I started shaking the Polar Bear like a shake weight for men, my eyes twitching and off-kilter, "You wanted to FUCK ME this entire time?!" I spat out accusingly with a fluctuating cadence, paws now upturned, fingers fanned out and undulating wildly as if to say, "WHY YOU NO TELL ME SOONER?!"

"W-What?!" Scott asked, baffled as if my had just sent him flying a mile backwards, likely misinterpreting my breakdown as malice toward him. "Dude, I wasn't... I never... I didn't think you'd." he stuttered, staring at my contorted expression, his own eyes brimming with pain of rejection.

But I didn't have time to reassure Scott that I was just having a mental breakdown because I was having a mental breakdown.

"Rob, dude, what's going on with you?" Chris (rightfully) asked as if I was completely fucking mental, piquing my burning desire to USE WORDS.

"That's it, intervention time for all you motherfuckers!" I declared, sweeping my +5 index finger of Judgement at all my friends in a panorama motion.

GALAXY BLASTER OF UNPOKEN TRUTH ATTACK

"YOU!" I bellowed, finger pointed viciously at Chris. "Need to stop destroying your body with this bet you have going on! Hearing you of all people say that you're missing out on a dance for training is just depressing!" Eyes widening, the grey Wolf backstepped at the spontaneity of my words.

Jayce tried to deflect my one-sided flow of THE TRUTH to Chirs, "Rob, could you be so cordial as to use your indoor voic-"

"- and you, Jayce! I don't care if you're getting back at Americans for making fun of your Chinese accent you had when you were seven! The way you talk is pretentious and worst of all, a turn-on for homeless-people murdering autocrats like Francesca fucking Bucannon!"

"P-Pretentious? F-Francesca?" Jayce faltered, utterly shut down.

"Pretentious? Is that like a... brand of lube or something?" Marty asked, sauntering on over to the center of the commotion right before I brought it to him.

I skulked over to the Bull, my exasperated gesticulation so wild and sporadic as I spoke that it was practically interpretive dancing. "MARTY!! Control your mouth, and I don't just mean all the food you stuff into it! Learn to read social cues and filter your language!"

The Bull blinked at me vacantly, "Qs?" Everyone else around me exchanged disbelieving glances at each other, seeming ready to disengage the fuck out of the dramatic situation I was instigating. Scott looked as if he was witnessing his own death.

Suddenly Alistair strutted into our locker aisle from around the corner. "Yo bros, are we having a yell off in here? I'm all about that shit!" he declared with a brain-dead gusto.

I charged at the Doberman-shaped source of my torment, halting just before crashing into him to perform an angry jumping act, "Alistair! What the fuck is your deal, you loud-mouthed lunk?! You are the world's most half-assed closet case ever! The whole point is to not suck dick where other people can see it!"

Alistair countered my accusation with a confused, but steady and unthreatened stare, "Closet case? I have no idea what you're talking about, bro."

At that point, Sean, Taro, Jules and their other shitty friend (whose name I just remembered) Boxer a somewhat tall chestnut-furred Horse, came over to see what the commotion and (non-Alistair) screaming was about. Their uncertain expressions were marked by amusement and a desire to keep distance.

"Woah, Rob's going more psycho than my mom after her twelfth cup of coffee!" Boxer commented like an amused spectator.

"Yeah, the fuck's going on with Rob?" Jules said in that harsh, low voice of his.

"Yo dawg, I am also commenting on this bizarre occurrence!" Taro added in.

"Hey Rob, did something happen?" Sean asked completely innocently. Cucky-Mctrashface might have actually seemed concerned for me for a moment, but fuck that, my scalding inner rage... now had a final outlet.

"You... Seeeeeeeean," I intimidated, looming over the Taby Cat menacingly like college applications, who shrunk back in terror. His two friends wouldn't save him from this: I went off. "YOU ARE THE SINGLE MOST WORTHLESS EXCCUSE FOR A PERSON I'VE _EVER_HAD THE DISPLEASURE OF MEETING. YOU'RE A SUB MEDICORE TRAILER PARK TRASH LINEBACKER WHO USES HIS SHITTY RELIGION AS AN EXCUSE TO BELITTLE OTHERS, DESPITE HOW FUCKING RETARDED IT IS THAT YOU WORSHIP A MADE-UP DEAD GUY IN THE SKY! YOUR ONLY TALENT BESIDES BEING A DICK IS PUTTING THEM IN YOUR MOUTH BECAUSE YOU SUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

Sean's eyes opened fully, both pained and overpowered. Taro, Boxer and Jules' heads slowly arched backwards at my brutal roasting.

I HAVE INVOKED FEAR INTO THE SHIT LORDS. MY TRANSFORMATION IS COMPLETE!

"I'M FREE AHAHAHAAH! MY SUBCONSCIOUS AND I HAVE BECOME ONE" I cackled as I stormed out of the locker room like a four-dimensional confetti hurricane. "FUCK Y'AAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL" were my final parting words as I stampeded past the double doors to outside, leaving the rest of my team unequivocally staggered. The final thing I heard from the locker room was "I think Rob was acting a little weird you guys," from Marty.

I charged out into the center of the football field where I missed the field goal, the inciting incident to my mania. Utterly uncaring to the confused looks of the remaining parents on the bleachers, I started lunging my body forward and back across an imaginary circle on the turf, catching and springing myself back with my paws like some deranged third-rate gymnast.

"Mommy, that guy's having a mental breakdown!" eagerly said some five-year-old Lynx on his way out of the field with his mother.

"Don't watch, sweetie," his mom said protectively, covering his eyes.

Slowly but surely, during my sporadic unhinged dancing, I felt grains of truth entering my brain like alien spacecrafts docking on Earth for the first time. I could finally see outside of the closet, beyond all the jokes and insincerity I guarded myself with, and Over the Fucking Rainbow into the magical Land of Oz that was as gay as the HBO special of the same name.

He was hitting on me this whole time!

This whole fucking time!

I wasted PENIS KNOWS how many times to boink Scott to my own pointless insecurities!!

That part over the summer where he was talking about trying something 'new and taboo'? He totally wanted to fuck me! How did I not pick up on that?!

And for what?! Keeping my place at the top of the social pyramid of high school, when that shit clearly didn't stop me from being a fucking insane nervous wreck anyway?!

This tips the scales, I can't go back to my old life in the closet! Having to hurtlingly turn down girls like Jessica is one thing, but losing out on Scott to fucking Grapefruit Katie? FUCK THAT!

Maybe I missed my chance to fulfil all my teenage fantasies with Scott, but I WILL BE DAMNED IF I LET THE SAME HAPPEN WITH DAREN!

It's not just that he's as handsome and muscular as fucking Thor himself, but he's 100% real, unashamed of who his is, he's a fucking inspiration and a shining lighthouse in the distant sea telling me how to fucking finally be happy with myself!

That's right, I'm fucking in love with Daren, THAT'S why my mind was sending subliminal images of Daren to me during my biggest moment of pressure, and THAT'S why I've been feeling so fucking shitty this past week! UH DUUUUUH ROB, YOU STUPID TAINT TICKLER! And that good boi is hurting AND NEEDS ME TO BE THERE FOR HIM! 100% of the time!

So I am NOT going to let THIS SOCIETY get to me anymore!

I'm gonna rip that beard right off and tell Francesa that "Fuck you I'm gay and will not take your cootie-ridden girl parts to homecoming!"

Did you hear that inner monologue of mine, World?! ROBERT HAMILTON IS ABOUT TO COME OUT OF THE CLOSET, BABY!

And it's all because...

I'M IN LOVE WITH DAREN WILLIAMS, AND I WILL MAKE THAT BOY MY BRIDE!!!!!!