A/N: Unfortunately, I've had enough. I know bad reviews are inevitable and all writers get them. But please, if you are going to make fun and criticize a certain story, just PM them. That way, it won't be seen by other readers and the writer can see the review all by him/her self. Besides, if you are going to just make fun of the writer's story, just read it, okay? And writers, (especially new ones), don't get greedy. I know reviews are essential. IMPORTANT. But if you're not the kind of person who doesn't take criticizing lightly, just ignore them. Yes, I get them too. I've gotten a handful.

"No. Go away. I don't like you."

A lie.

Lies are part of my everyday routine. Waking up, watching myself in the small mirror hung on the bathroom wall, the first thing I tell myself: I HATE YOU.

But really? How can you hate your own self your precious parents have given you? It's hard. It's fucking impossible. Especially with the given limits of modern society. You are who you are. Deal with it, son.

I just refuse to accept who I am. This is not who I want to be. I want to be normal. Why is it so hard to achieve that dream?

Am I so torn inside that I'm destined to not live normal? Or is the world so damn funny as hell that it's making fun of my dream? Guess what, it may sound stupid, but HELL, I want it so bad.

My name is Iggy. Yes, it's my real name; nothing more, nothing less. And I'm a freak. Ninety-eight percent human, two percent bird.

Yes, I'm part bird. Go ahead. You can run in horror now. I'd tell you I've experienced it before, but no. I've kept my whole life a secret to the whole world. And man, it was hard. A secret as big as that can't be kept in forever, but I sure as hell did.

So no, I don't have any parents (as far as I'm concerned). I can hate myself as much as I want. No siblings either. Yes, I'm alone. Except I'm not.

There are others like me. I'd talk about them, but unfortunately, this is my journal entry. Which means I'm supposed to be talking about myself. Me alone.

Oh, and another thing. I'm gay.

I'm attracted to guys. I don't want to live and breathe like the opposite sex, it's just that I like guys better than girls.

Girls are everywhere. And so are guys. My mind should be wired to girls, but no. My mind just registers guys. Hot girls are cute, muscular guys are even cuter.

I bet you're curling your fingers now. Don't worry, my ego is not bruised. It's just how you are supposed to respond. That's how society wants you to respond.

I guess being normal is really overrated. Because really, how is homosexuality normal? Society is, has been and alway will be, ordered to only have heterosexual relationships. I get it. I'm totally fine with that.

That is why I want to be normal. Homosexuality is just frowned upon in some parts of the world. Take Seoul, South Korea. I heard a broadcasting station released a show about three lesbian couples. South Koreans weren't so fond of it. Told that it was negatively influencing young children. Full of shit, I tell you.

In all of my seventeen years alive, I've never experienced love. Sure, I made out with some ever since seventh grade, but that was it. I've had girlfriends and boyfriends since high school. Unfortunately, if you saw how lonely and frustrated my voice was in the first few paragraphs, I'm single. Or I hope you at least picked that up.

Second semester of senior year in high school is brutal. Too much pressure that it feels like you're inhaling tungsten hexafluoride. Or in other words, it's like you're carrying all the burdens of all seniors in the whole world behind your brittle back.

To me, second semester means time off. I mean, first semester finals are done. To me the next semester is a relaxation period.

Unfortunately, it's not. NO.

See, earlier this year, I joined a community service club. You know, to earn some good stuff for my college resume. Since it's a community service club, I expected not a lot of people would join. Because voluteering is stupid to others.

At 6:45am, the large forum room was filled, packed like the inside of a sardines can. Every square inch of the room was occupied by the scent of sweat and coffee mixed together. I barely had any sitting room in my third row seat.

"Wanna bet the percentage of people who are only doing this for college resume?" A deep voice said to me on my right side.

"Huh?" Confused, I turned my head to the right and almost knocked over my blueberry tea.

I'm gay, aren't I? Well, be prepared. I turned my head back to my Paris-themed thermos and carefully sipped my tea.

Damn, why is he here all wrapped up in his full dark glory?

Maybe he's a new student. But some of my friends give him recognizing glances, and I suddenly feel left out and lost.

Am I the only one who doesn't know him? Unfortunately, I got my answer during eighth period.

Since I already finish four years of Spanish because of middle school by sophomore year, I decided to take French junior year.

Of course, since this year I'm a senior, I'm taking French II. I could have taken Chinese, which is really good for my resume. But my mindset believed I would not use Chinese ever in the next ten years of my life because I'll be in Europe anyway. I want to live and work in Paris. No, it's not because of the mandatory vacation they give you. Okay, yes.

Eighth period is the last class of the day, and thank God I have French II. Seventh period PE is just a hassle to me, though I hardly get tired in that class because DUH. Science freak over here.

When I entered L210, he was already there, interacting with some juniors.

He was taking off his glasses when I entered the classroom. Switching my messenger bag over one shoulder, I give him a familiar nod and settled on a seat faraway from him as possible. The corner, of course.

I escaped him, but these girls didn't.

"Iggy! Where were you?" Their frilly voices scratching the walls of my ears.

"PE."

They pouted. "We missed you, though. We're in the same PE period too!"

"But different classes." I obviously pointed out. I shooed them away and they stuck out their pink tongues at me.

Across the room, I caught the glance of Tess. She warmly smiled at me. I smiled back. Then, out of familiarity, I crooked a finger at her.

She mouthed, "Why?"

I shrugged and beckoned her further. She put her book down (she was always a new book everyday) and strutted to me.

I sat strutted because that's how she walks. Like a model. This girl is so oblivious to her positive points and charms. If I wasn't gay, I would date this girl.

She sat on the seat in front of mine and faced me.

"Yes, Iggy?" she asked in her sweet, sweet voice. Ah, her innocence overwhelms me every time.

I can't help but smile. "How's life?" I asked her, even though I already know the answer to that.

She scrutinized me, her hazel eyes scanning me up and down. She's always doing that every time we see each other. Tess is a clean freak, that's why. I like her for that.

"Your tie is crooked, your hems are horribly and irregularly cuffed, and you have zit on your forehead."

My hand immediately go to my forehead. "I know, so could you please refrain from reminding me that?"

Tess grinned. She reached over my desk and yanked my tie.

"Ow!"

"Shh! This will take a second." She unraveled the knot and smoothed it out before wrapping it around my neck.

She took her sweet time, evenly wrapping and even smoothing out the creases. In a matter of seconds, the triangle knot was made, centered and carefully tied. I slipped a finger and loosened the knot.

"Hey! Don't do that!" Tess complained and tried to stop me. I smacked her hands away.

"FYI, it's called style. It's part of my look."

She rose her left brow, a perfect arch. "Really? What is it?"

Before I could answer, Madame Avignon entered the room and exclaimed, "Bonjour, tout le monde! Asséz-vous, s'il vous plaît."

Tess patted my hand and walked back to her seat across the room. I almost sighed in relief.

"Donc, ça va, les etudiants?" Avignon asked the room. The students uttered out a weak "Oui, ça va bien, Madame."

Avignon took three steps closer to the teacher's table. Reaching inside her handbag, she took out a clipboard.

"It's the start of the year and all I get is that?" Avignon clucked her tongue. "Seniors, where are my seniors?"

Five of us lifted our hands, plus dark boy. Readjusting her glasses, she studied the six of us.

"Levez-vous."

We stood up. It was so awkward, the silence almost stifling. We all looked at her, nervous at what she's going to say next. I studied the hands of my watch. Five seconds.

"Iggy."

One point two seconds was how long I reacted . My head suddenly turned up to look at her. I could feel the heavy gazes of my classmates on me. Or my zit.

"Yes?"

"Comment ça va?"

"Ça va comme ci comma ça. Et vous, madame? Comment ça va?"

Avignon suddenly smiled at me. "Asséz-vous, monsieur."

She looked away from me and faced the other side of the room. Avignon suddenly stared at Dark Boy.

"Comment t'appelles-tu?" Avignon asked in an enthusiastic voice.

Dark Boy responded with exact fervor. "Je m'appelle Fang et je suis fatigué à repondre son question. Je peux m'asseoir, Madame?"

Avignon gasps. Then smiles. "This is how I want you to respond everyday. Not a lame 'I'm okay, so?' response. Oui?"

The class roared laughter at her fake impersonation of the 17 year old teenager.

I tried to join in with the laughing but something was tugging in the back of my mind.

Fang? Where have I heard that name before? I stared at Fang, stared at his mussed dark hair, black-rimmed glasses, dark brown eyes looking back at me, and his slightly chapped lips in a smirk—

Holy shi—!

So it was that way. I practically avoided him, except for the occasional nodding when we see each other in the hallways.

Fang was a kid I knew three years ago. He's like me, part avian. But three years ago, he was not that attractive. His facial features were not the refined three years ago.

Three years ago he was an awkward skinny fourteen year old boy!

Three years ago he had a girlfriend!

Speaking of which, where's Max? Where's the oh-so-powerful master of his? I don't hate Max, but her constant nagging and mood swings can be a pain in my arse. That's why I left them three years ago, partly because I envy them.

Partly because that's when I realized I have the slightest crush on Fang.

So this second semester, I decided to not have any sort of relationship with him. Even if it's only platonic friendship. Friendship can turn to something more, you know. That's how lovers start.

But it's hard. Oh, so hard. Every day, it's him I see in class, in the hallway, IN MY MIND!

I want to yell to the world, YES I STILL LIKE HIM! STOP MAKING IT OBVIOUS, LOVE!

In my heart, God, I want to be with him. But he's straight. Who knows, he might be still with Max?

I keep on pondering, even while I'm doing notecards for my upcoming test in AP Gov in the library. The test is in five days, and I've only done two cards. That's how much Fang is a distraction for my studying.

I rub my face for the tenth time and ruffled my blond hair. God, why is he making this so complicated? In defeat, I drop my head on the table.

"What's wrong, Ig?"

My head snap up, my light blue eyes widen in surprise. When did he get here?

I guess the question is stamped on my forehead because he chuckles. "I just got here. Don't worry."

I just continue to stare up at him. I watch him pick up my AP Gov textbook and open it wide. He let it stand on its own on the table, covering our table to the rest of the world.

He drops his head low, making him eye-to-eye to him.

"Stress?" Fang asks.

I nod weakly. "Are you here to help me?" Of all the questions that's rushing all over my brain, I had to ask that? Well, it's a good conversation starter.

"No."

"What? You have to !"

That smirk again. "You're pretty smart on your own, Ig."

"Then why are you here?" Why are we whispering?

"Simple: to do this."

Do what?

Fang reaches out his right hand, two fingers capturing my chin, pulling me closer.

Then his lips are on mine and gone at the same time. He comes back, and does it again.

Wide-eyed, I stupidly ask, "What about Max?"

Fang grins. "Oh, Ig. I'm bisexual."