Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

LOUDER THAN BELLS
    by KD Sarge
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 1
    They— the open-minded they— say that sexuality is a spectrum. Some people are straight, and some are gay, but really it's graded on a curve— lots more people fall in the middle than on the absolute ends.
    I never heard about the spectrum until I went to college, but when I did I knew where I stood— not all that far from the straight end. It was a guilty relief to figure out I wasn't secretly gay. I settled into being a little bit bi, looked all I wanted at hot guys, and when I had time I dated girls. No problem.
    No problem at all. Until I ran into him in the reference section of the campus library on the first day of my junior year.
    When I say I ran into him, I mean it. Anyone can tell you— Lukas Blake doesn't make things up. Honest, that's me. Solid. Dependable. Reliable.
    Actually pretty gay.
    The reference section is on the fourth floor, so no one just wanders up there. No one gets the giggles up there, and no one chases someone else through the stacks flirting. People up there are quietly studying or quietly looking for some peace and quiet.
    It also has one of the best views in Western Pennsylvania— one whole wall is glass, looking out over the river and to the west— and that's why I ran into him. He was coming around the end of a stack, and I was going around that stack, looking over my shoulder at the sunset to catch all I could on my way out, and SMACK I ran right into him. He bounced off my chest and I grabbed his arms to keep him from falling.
    Eyeliner. That was my first impression. Big green eyes, eyeliner, eye shadow, and a tiny bit of stubble on his jaw. I noticed the stubble just in time not to say "I'm so sorry, miss!" But it messed me up so I didn't say anything.
    His lips were shiny. With sparkles— he was wearing lip gloss. His short spiky hair was brown with gold streaks. He was maybe an inch shorter than me, more slender, and wearing all black. Not like the baggy T-shirts and jeans of the emo kids in high school— he wore a black blazer and a black turtleneck.
    The green eyes I was staring into rolled in annoyance, and he stepped back, throwing off my grip.
    "Aww!" he said. "Your first gay! How cute!" He went on around me.
    I think I stood there a few minutes before I remembered I had to get to work.
    ****
    The first week of classes was hectic as always, and I didn't see him again. Not that it mattered. He wasn't my type, even to look at. I'd just never seen a guy look like him, and I was curious. Sparkling lip gloss? I wondered if he knew karate or something. Even the best college has muscle-headed idiots.
    I wasn't looking for him, so I stopped myself going into every coffee joint on campus. Sure, he looked like the double-latte-shot-of-soy-what-is-this-drink-even kind of guy, but I drank black coffee I brought from home and the first week of classes wasn't the time for satisfying idle curiosity anyway.
    On Monday of the second week of classes, I was almost late to Intermediate Cinematography. I slipped in the door as Professor Nieman greeted the class, starting two minutes early. She glanced at the clock and went on, and I hurried up the aisle to the only empty seat, right in front of her.
    "Those of you who have read the syllabus," the professor said, trying to catch eyes around the classroom, "will be aware that today is the day you'll start your main project. I've assigned you to groups—" she waved her stylus at the smart-board behind her and the picture changed to lists, "—so please get together after class and exchange contact information. You might also want to look for coinciding free time in your schedules, as you are going to need it."
    Groans ran around the classroom, but not too bad. No one was in that class without having Professor Nieman already, so—
    Wait a minute. Mallory Demaris was in my group, and that was fine. I liked her, and we'd worked together before. Tania Whitbeck, also fine as soon as she quit complaining. Darren Ursery, probably deadweight, but every group project had one. Or maybe two— I had Matt Brinks in my group too.
    Who was Alan Lacroix?
    Professor Nieman passed out the assignment specs, and I took the chance to look around but I didn't see an unfamiliar face and I should have, since I knew everyone in the film school at my level or above. Lacroix must have transferred in from somewhere else. But he also had to have added the class, since Professor Nieman hadn't called him