Chapter Text
September 2, 1954.
School has officially started. The mild breeze is warming to my skin. As always, Jack refuses to acknowledge my existence. I have, for the most part, accepted that I will always be something he is ashamed of. I’d rather that, than have him actually hate me—I don’t think I could handle that, and truthfully, I'm sure he couldn't either.
Yesterday, I saw him and Maurice laughing together, like they had always been the closest of chums. It hurt my heart quite a bit, but how could I tell him? If anything, he would have just dismissed me and called me the most demeaning names he could think of. It’s always been him, Maurice, and Roger: I’ve always been nothing to him. Yet, only when the rest of the boys are gone, and it is just us two, is when he is truly kind to me. Those are the moments that I cherish the most.
You see, my relationship with Jack has always had its up’s and down’s. That is what comes with choosing to be friends with someone as complicated as him, I have realised. I’ve come to a conclusion, one that has been pressing on my mind for a good while now: Jack is right to be embarrassed of me. I can't think of a reason he shouldn't be. See, I’m Simon. Simon, the batty. Simon, the queer. Who in their right mind would want to stick around me? Me, of all people—and yet Jack has, even if he doesn’t show it in front of others.
Now Jack, he’s the one that people flock to. He is utterly magnificent. Golden hair, striking facial features, the voice of an angel. When they were looking for the right boy to be chapter chorister, I told him he was perfect for the role—and he was, everybody knew that being able to sing high C sharp was no small feat.
As for me? I can only sing to high G, which I admit is quite unimpressive to the choir’s standards. Really, I am unsure why I am still in the choir, however I do suspect that Jack had something to do with it that he won’t tell me.
I have to go, unfortunately. Bun-break is almost over, and it has lightened my spirits considerably as Jack saved me a squashed-fly, albeit in secret.
My favourite biscuit, and my favourite person.
— Simon