Free Fly on the Wall: How One Girl Saw Everything by E. Lockhart

moves?” asks Gunther. “Some twirly twirls?”
    “No thanks,” whispers Orange, like he's been invited to drink tea.
    “It's African dance, you tool,” says Up Yours. “It's not some ballet crap.” He splashes water on his face at the sink, but doesn't shower either. Like the two of them are trying to get out of there before the situation gets any worse.
    “Aw, just one little twirly, Tinker Bell,” teases Gunther. “I'm not asking for much. Why are you giving me such a hard time?”
    “It's called a contraction, the move we mainly do,” says Orange, quietly. “Not a twirly. You contract your abdomen, like from the center of your body.”
    “Carlo, don't explain him anything,” says Up Yours, taking his glasses out of his locker. “He doesn't want to know.”
    “Oh, I'm very interested!” sneers Gunther. “A contraction: is that like in childbirth?” He's bigger than they are, looming over.
    “Not like that,” says Carlo (Orange).
    “You
would
be doing contractions, you ladies.”
    “Just fuck off!” yells Up Yours, losing his crap. “Why can't you leave us alone?”
    BANG.
Gunther slams him into a locker. “You telling me to fuck off, you Mary Poppins faggot little smart-mouth?”
    “Ow!”
    “Is that what I heard you saying? That I should
fuck off
?”
    “You heard me.”
    “Tell me your name, fag.”
    “Don't touch me.”
    “What's your name, you little ballet dancer?”
    Up Yours is silent. Gunther grabs his ear and twists it, hard. “I said, what's your name?”
    He squeaks it out. “Xavier, okay? Xavier.”
    “Xavier what?”
    Nothing.
    “I said, Xavier
what
?”
    “Xavier Briggs.”
    “Well, Miss Xavier Briggs,” growls Gunther, “repeat after me. I am a…”
    “I am a…” Xavier is trembling as Gunther leans over him.
    “…ballet-dancing faggot.”
    “…ballet-dancing faggot,” Xavier repeats.
    “Now mind your step, Mary Poppins,” says Gunther, straightening up. “You're being watched from now on. You understand?”
    Xavier (Up Yours) swallows hard. “Yeah.” He squirms from under the heavy paw Gunther has placed on his shoulder, and as soon as he's free, he and Carlo grab their packs and run for the door.
    They're gone.
    I buzz down and circle Gunther's head, just because I want to do something, anything. But he claps his hands so quickly he almost squashes me between them, and I zip back up to the top of the lockers before he can try it again.
    So much for my superpowers.
    It's not long before I'm distracted from thinking about Carlo and Xavier's persecution. A major wave of junior boys rushes into the locker room, yelling and stripping off their clothes. Two of them are tossing a ball around, shirtless. Another isn't wearing any underwear when he pulls down his shorts.
    Some of these boys are really fine.
    That guy in the red boxers has a great booty. Round and hard like a ball. Like it's begging someone to squeeze it.
    Ooh, and this guy over here with the mohawk. He's, um… well endowed. You'd never know to look at him—thin and dressed in black, with a lot of piercings. Dyed blue hair and blue eyes. Not a standout physical specimen just walking down the hallway, but without his clothes he's…
    One thing is for sure. When I turn back—if I ever do—I'm definitely going to try and get me some sex.
    I mean, not too much, not sex sex, not more than I'm ready for, but I'd be all over rubbing my Gretchen Yee body up against some man-flesh, if you know what I mean. Somewhere dark with candles all around. Or somewhere brightly lit and dangerous, like a locker room floor.
    It's funny, I had no idea I was this kind of person. I mean, I thought I was all for romance, and that I wanted secret love notesand hand-holding, and good-night kisses on the street corner by my apartment, under an awning on a rainy night.
    And I do want all those things. It's not like I've stopped wanting them.
    It's just that now I've got urges.
    Like I can't stop thinking about it.
    Like