S.W. Ballenger - A Gay Polyester High School Romance

Contents

A Gay Polyester High School Romance

S.W. Ballenger

Copyright 2020 by S.W. Ballenger

Cover design copyright 2020 by The Lion Fish Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events, and incidents are either products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published July 2020 by Deep Hearts YA, an imprint of Deep Desires Press and Story Perfect Inc.

Deep Hearts YA

PO Box 51053 Tyndall Park

Winnipeg, Manitoba R2X 3B0

Canada

Visit http://www.deepheartsya.com for more great reads.

Chapter One

The smell of pencil shavings, cologne, and body odor filled the air as I walked down the halls of Derbyshire High School. My gaze drifted around the hallway watching my fellow students congregate in small cliquesthe Nerds, the Hippies, the Greasers, and the Jocks. As I was checking out the tight, checkered polyester pants Tom Barker, our school quarterback, sported, an announcement blared over the loudspeaker.

Principal Andersons voice echoed from the large speaker hanging from the ceiling at the end of the hall. Its October 15, 1973, and todays birthday students include, I waited for the sound of shuffling papers to stop, Shawn Stuart. Hmm. I guess hes the only one. His voice remained even. So, if you see Shawn, wish him a happy birthday.

I rolled my eyes. I hated school birthday announcements. While some people liked the attention of having their birthday announced to the whole school, I did not.

Dreading the first Happy birthday, I lowered my head, hoping that I could sneak to my first class without anyone noticing me, then maybe by second period everyone would forget and I wouldnt have to hear those two dreaded words.

Stopping by my locker to grab my Government book, I heard the clomping sound of running sneakers come up behind me. As I opened my locker, I felt the familiar punch to my shoulder, the location and pressure revealing the identity of the person; the one person who wouldnt forget my special day, my best friend Brad De Vries. Happy birthday, dude! The big one-five. Brad waited for me to turn.

Ouch, man. I grimaced, rubbing my shoulder. You punch too hard.

Dont be such a baby. Here. Brad fumbled as he shoved a badly-wrapped record album covered in aluminum foil at me. Tears in the thin metallic material indicated it had not been handled with care. Sorry, man. He shrugged. Mom didnt have any wrapping paper, so I had to make do.

No problem. I clearly saw the name Pink Floyd under the torn edge as I took it from him. You didnt have to get me anything, I lied. The idea of my best friend not getting me a birthday present was an unforgivable violation of the rules of the Best Friends Contract.

Dude. What kind of best friend would I be if I didnt get you something for your birthday? Brad said, thankfully remembering his part of the agreement.

I ripped the package open and pieces of foil fell to the floor. Oh cool! Dark Side of the Moon. Thanks, man! I love it! I flipped the album cover over to read the credits before checking out Brads long blond hair that hung just past his waist. At six foot two, Brad stood several inches taller than my five-eight frame. At one time, we were both the same height, but around seventh grade, Brad zoomed passed me. According to Brad, his great-grandparents migrated to the United States from the Netherlands. He definitely had a Dutch heritage: tall, blond hair, and blue eyes. As far as looks, the blue eyes were the only feature we had in common. The Stuarts were Scottish, although I never thought I looked Scottish with my black hair and dark complexion.

I almost got you Elton Johns Yellow Brick Road, but I know how youre all into that space rock stuff. He said with a smile.

Ive got the forty-five of Money, but not the album. Thanks, dude. I placed it gently between two books in my locker and grabbed the book for my first class. Youre coming to my party tonight, I assume?

I thought it was just your family? Brad opened his locker next to mine and began digging through his collection of well-used spiral notebooks.

Man, what are you talking about? You are family! I scowled at him; we repeated this conversation every single year, knowing both of us hadnt missed one anothers parties from the first day we met at Mrs. Thompsons Child Care when we were both three. Brad had been my best friend as far back as I could remember.

I know. He shrugged as he struggled to loosen the stubborn notebook from its compacted prison. I just had to ask, though. Mom says its polite to always ask. He stumbled backward as the notebook came free.

Its at six.

Cool.

We began strolling down the hall side-by-side, occasionally bumping into other students as we tried to clear our own path through the jungle of warm bodies that smelled of perfume, hair spray, and cologne. At least before first period, the smells were pleasant; by fourth period, body odor would overpower the senses to the point that leisurely strolls became brisk walks, and classrooms became escapes from a foul odor onslaught.

As Brad and I got into a discussion about the students in our respective classes that were always tardy to first period, no matter how many times they had gotten detention, I glanced ahead at a girl wearing a silky red blouse and bell-bottom blue jeans. With hair as red as fire that hung to her waist, her figure would put a model to shame. She giggled as she stood among her three friends happily chatting.

I leaned over to Brad as the thoughts of Tabitha Fays body filled my brain. Shes a fox.

Brad gave her a once-over and wrinkled his nose. Shes okay, I guess.

Come on, man. Check out those boobs. I stared at her ample breasts that looked as though they were about to pop the button of her too-tight blouse.

Theyre okay if youre into boobs. Brad shrugged and added. Im more of a butt man myself.

Butts are nice, too! I agreed, inadvertently catching a glimpse of Mike Townsends butt as he passed between me and Brad. The thought that Brad would look good in those tight green corduroys he wore ran through my mind.

Passing Tabitha Fays locker, she turned, smiled, and shouted very enthusiastically, Happy birthday, Shawn.

Thanks, Tabitha, I shouted back just as enthusiastically before turning to Brad.

I gave him a confused look, swearing I caught him rolling his eyes. What was that?

What?

You rolled your eyes.

Nah, man. Why would I do that? He gave me a look as if he thought it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Are you asking her to the Fall Dance?

I dont know yet, I replied. Shes pretty and I think she likes me.

I think we should go stag so we can choose our dates from the lonely girls that mope around under the basketball nets. You know, the ones that are desperate and very thankful for any guy who shows them attention? Brad suggested.

I scowled. Im not that desperate, Brad, and neither are you.

Just a thought. He shrugged.

I gotta book it. I stopped in front of Mr. Rumsfords classroom as Brad continued down the hall.

Later, dude, Brad said as he waved.

Mr. Rumsford stood in front of the classroom, erasing the board like a man obsessed with getting every molecule of chalk from its surface. As soon as everyone was seated and the bell rang, he slapped his hands together causing dust to fly forth in a cloud of choking particles.