——

I got accepted into the college of my choice in the early weeks of March. And before the month ended, I had a plane ticket to visit Columbia University in New York, where I would spend the next four years of my life to get my degree in Biology. Then, maybe the next four after that, I'll be in medical school and then be accepted into a residency program in some prestigious medical hospital in the Northeast.

It was a dream. My chances of reaching those goals increased tenfold from the Ivy League status of the school and put enough determination and grit, I might be there one day. My parents were very happy for me. Their alma mater was the Columbia Lions, and as their only child, I had to be a lion, too.

It was a good thing that I loved New York and fell in love with the school even before I laid my eyes. And when they heard I planned on attending there, they freaked out. Heck, they threw a massive party for the entire neighborhood, and this was before they knew I was accepted. They threw a much larger one when I did.

My parents could be over-the-top. Me being an only child, it was always like that every waking hour. I was glad I was moving far away from Portland, Oregon, to New York City. By my count, it was about 3,000 miles away and not an easy drive if they decided to do an impromptu visit as some parents did from the college horror stories online. Given their track record, they'd certainly do that if I live close.

In the early hours of April 9th, at four in the morning, I trudged along the oddly geometric T-shapes of the infamous teal-colored carpets of Portland International Airport, racing toward the baggage line. I was still half-asleep by the time I got there, and with Starbucks not yet opened until five, I was cranky and irritated as I desperately needed a cup of coffee. My flight was at 5:30, and boarding was twenty minutes before that. It certainly didn't give me time to grab a cup. I tightened my backpack around my shoulders. I packed light for the trip.

"Call me if there's any trouble at all, okay? No matter how small, you call me," my mother said.

I nodded, but she gave me one of her looks that said if I didn't, she's going to bring hell upon me. I gulped. "Fine. I will," I said. She had a way to force words out of my mouth.

Her frown dropped, and she smiled. "Unlike Portland, New York is a big city with at least twenty million people in the metro area alone!"

"I know, mom, I know. I read the brochure."

"God, you are only seventeen, and now in a big city? To see this day coming—"

Not this again. "I'm going to be back here on Sunday night. It's a weekend trip. You'll see me again."

"I know. It's just that you've grown so fast!"

My mother started spouting off about what to do if I was injured or if there was a medical emergency during the flight or in the city. I rolled my eyes. I've heard this before a thousand times. My mom was Dr. Elizabeth Watts in the Sacred Heart Hospital in downtown Portland. A surgical doctor.

My mom was only thirty-eight years old. She had light auburn hair like mine, just cropped back short, and we shared the same blue-green eyes and height and frame. She was lean and petite, standing around five foot six. Though, I packed a little bit of muscle when I joined Track last year. Still, I was considered one of the smaller students in my class.

An easy prey.

You could say I wanted to be a doctor because of my mother. And as much as I wanted my independence, I was going to miss her much.

I hugged her mid-speech. She went quiet, and then I felt her body relaxed as she hugged me in return.

"Thank you, mom," I said.

Yeah, this was going to make her cry. Definitely.

My mom tilted my chin up to face her. "Bren, your father and I are so proud of you."

As if on cue, my dad shuffled to where we stood, holding a small Styrofoam cup of coffee. Jonathan Watts was already dressed in his suit and tie, ready for work as an IT security officer for a private security firm in the city. My father was a couple of years older than my mom, and I didn't inherit his dark brown hair and his green eyes. I didn't inherit his six-foot frame, much to my disappointment.

"This is not Starbucks level or Dutch Brothers, but I hoped it'll still give you a kick," he said, smiling.

"Where'd you get this?" I eyed the cup questioningly.

"It's from the coffee vending machine. Sorry. I tried looking for an open coffee shop, but no such luck."

I took the cup out of his hands and took a sip. I winced.

"It's supposed to taste like mocha." My dad frowned.

It didn't taste like mocha. I forced a smile and shook my head. "No, it's fine. I'll take what I can get."

My dad glanced at his watch. He turned to my mom. "We have to get to work, hon."—turning his attention back to me—"Remember, Mr. Ramirez is waiting for you on Gate 5. And here's a book for you to read. It's a five-hour flight unless you get bored."

I grabbed the book in his hand. It was a new book by Stephen King, and I smiled. "Thanks, dad. You know me too well."

My parents wrapped me into another tight embrace. It took most of my strength to pry myself out of their grip before I waved goodbye. It was the first time I was flying without them, and as much as it excited me to be on my own, a part of me didn't want to leave them.

As mom walked away, my dad held my arm back. "Hey, don't let anyone walk over you there, understand?" he laid his eyes hard on me.

I paused before I nodded. "I won't, dad. It's just that—"

"No. No excuses. You are strong. Remember that. You got your mask?"

I nodded again, smiling, and walked toward the gates. It was typical of him to do that, but the thought made me feel better, at least. My dad grew up in a military household and became a Navy Seal a few years after he enlisted. He only retired three years ago, and it would seem office life suited him well, too, treating it like he was back in Afghanistan or something. And though he'd like me to join the military, he supported me anyway in my pursuit to become a medical doctor. I made my last wave at them before I disappeared to the left wing of the airport.

Mr. Joseph Ramirez waited by Gate 5, as my father said. He was a short and portly man in his forties, and he was my English teacher. Once he saw me, he enthusiastically waved me over to where he sat, grinning as we shook hands. Mr. Ramirez was going to be my chaperone for the trip, along with four others.

I was one of the five students in my private high school who got accepted to Columbia University.

The Preston School of the Arts & Sciences was a private institution for children in 6th to 12th grade and was one of the top institutions in the entire Western United States. Heck, five students from the past became state senators, a governor, and a Vice President of the country from my school. Though the Preston School had its perks, it was a Catholic school.

I considered myself a non-practicing Catholic. I couldn't say the same thing to my parents, but they loved me the same. Due to the sometimes religious-driven curriculum of the school, it tended to put a target on my back when the entire school knew I was gay last year.

The school decided to group the accepted students to visit the campus in New York, and they put Mr. Ramirez in charge since he studied there. And these other four students were the bane of my existence.

The other four students already sat by the benches next to Mr. Ramirez, waiting for the flight and busy sticking their noses in front of their phones. They didn't bother to look up when I arrived. I quietly sat a few seats farther down the bench.

"The rainbow unicorn is here." I froze. It was Natalie's voice.

I glanced to my side and saw her whisper to an Asian girl with pixie-cut black hair, Aria, and they both landed their eyes at me. I looked away, and they started to laugh.

I blushed harder. I decided to open the book my dad gave me, hoping it would distract me from the others' loud whispering and stifled laughs. Mr. Ramirez sat on a seat with his back turned to us, and his earphones were blasting some Jazz music.

Natalie said something to the others again, making them laugh louder. One of the boys, Logan, decided my lack of response and cold shoulder wasn't enough and urged the others to crowd my side of the bench.

"Hey, Brendan. What are you reading?" he asked me.

I held up the front cover of the book to him.

"So, what? Are we too boring for you to say hi? I guess you feel like you are too smart for all of us," he snickered with the others.

I held my tongue. Out of the five of us, I was the only one who received a full academic scholarship, unlike Logan Hardy, who only got in with a football scholarship. Don't get me wrong; it was a good enough way to get into an Ivy League school. However, the others got in by money. And to a high-achieving and competitive student like Natalie Barker, the daughter of Portland's Mayor Barker, it was salt added to a festering wound of underachievement and slipping grades right after she started dating the school's quarterback, Logan Hardy.

And yet, she managed to get in. Imagine that.

"I guess New York needs more gay artist hacks," said Natalie with her nasal voice.

"I'm going to study Biology," I muttered. Bitch.

"Ah, a biologist," Aria Cho interjected. "Look, guys, he's going to study the gay gene. How noble."

"It certainly beats blowing guys under the bleachers, huh?" Carson Blake chimed in with that sly grin on his stoned-high face.

I froze. My cheeks turned a deep shade of red. "Guys, I don't want any trouble."

"Fair enough," laughed Carson. "We're just surprised you had it in you to seduce him like that. I think I have that video of you on my phone!"

"A slut," Natalie said. "Tell me, Bren, who did you blow this time to get that scholarship?"

"Or maybe he blew Principal Davis for a good recommendation," Logan added.

I had enough. I slammed the book closed and put it inside my bag. I slung my backpack and stomped out of there, stopping mid-way when I remembered what my mom said to me earlier. I turned around. I pointed my finger and narrowed my eyes at them. "Let me make things clear: I came on this trip for my education, not to make friends. And it certainly is none of your business what I do in the bedroom, and what I did with Peter was consensual."

I turned my attention to Carson. "For your information, Carson, I'm seventeen. You having that blurry-ass video on your phone is grounds for child pornography charges in the State of Oregon. I may not be your lawyer, but I recommend deleting it. I don't think a felony charge on your record is attractive to the university. Even your daddy's money can't save you."

From that, Mr. Ramirez heard the commotion and took his earphones off. "Hey, what's going on?" He asked.

But before the others could speak and maybe even make up a lie on the spot, I beat them to it. "It's nothing, Mr. Ramirez. I was going to the bathroom. Dirt got stuck on my hands."

They glared at me with a seething fury. I didn't care. I turned my heels and continued walking toward the bathroom.

If I was going to be around awful people on this trip, at least there's New York to comfort me.