Thanks to Georgeharo for their submission! Guess the song in the comments!

The Idiots

The wooden boards were cold under his feet, and the water looked even colder.

The only sound louder than the distant chirping of the crickets were the chants from down below.

"Take them off! Take them off! Take them off!"

And to think that it all started with a haircut.

That same morning he sat in the barbershop's waiting room, staring blankly at the wall and wondering if he had missed the signs, or if he had just been too stubborn to see them.

They must had known, he told himself. I mean, how could they not?

He sighed. Something heavy landed in the space to his right.

"Are you next?" asked the guy who had just plummeted down on the waiting room's couch.

For a second he didn't hear him. He didn't react in any way. He was too deep inside his own mind to be aware of anything happening around him.

Slowly his cognition started to resurface. The guy wore a white t-shirt under an open, gray hoodie, as well as snug jeans and sneakers. He was leaning back with his hands over his stomach and his head pointed to the ceiling.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you next?" the guy repeated, slowly mouthing every word.

He nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"What's troubling you, buddy?"

"What? Nothing."

"Sure, that sounds like nothing," the guy said sarcastically. "You're just staring at the wall because of its deep, artistic value."

"Could be!" he exclaimed. "Anything passes for modern art these days."

"Wiser words have never been spoken, my friend," the guys said. "But seriously, what's troubling you?"

Out of habit, he bit the inside of his lip. He could had given the guy a more accurate answer, had he asked what wasn't troubling him.

"It's personal," he answered. "I don't even know you."

"Monty Pewter." He reached out his hand. "C+ student, half Irish, half Italian, atheist, lead guitarist and allergic to peanuts."

For a long while he didn't know how to respond.

"I'm Chase," he said doubtful. "I'm not allergic to anything and I don't listen to much music."

"That's sad," Monty said. "You'll never learn who you are, I guess."

"Come again?"

"How will you ever learn who you are without listening to music?" With one jump, Monty sat up and turned his entire body on Chase's direction. "It's like a rite of passage to becoming yourself."

"Are you saying music is the only way I can learn who I am?"

"It helps," he said. "Once you discover what music you like, you discover the type of person you are."

"That sounds like an oversimplification," Chase protested.

"He said, moments after a session of introspection in a barbershop's waiting room."

"Fair enough."

"What type of haircut are you getting?" Monty asked him, pointing at a poster that hung on the wall, exhibiting over thirty different styles of hairdressing. "Personally, I'm leaning towards a Mohawk."

"As good as that sounds, I'm getting a crew cut."

"Holy shit, why would you do that?"

"It's part of the uniform," Chase explained hesitantly.

Monty's eyes grew wider. "Better question yet: What type of school passes an abomination such as a crew cut for uniform?"

"Sargent John's Military Academy," he answered.

"Oh," Monty muttered. "You don't look like the army type."

"I'm not, I guess."

"Then why go there?"

Had Chase had a rational answer for that, he would had gladly told him. But he didn't. He didn't have a reason. He didn't want to do it and Monty clearly saw right through that. It was all his father's idea anyway.

He shrugged his shoulders and hoped that would be enough of an answer.

"I see," Monty said. "So, when are you deploying, soldier?"

"Tomorrow night."

With his eyes closed as well as his fist, Monty made a gesture of success, along with a hissing yessss.

"Perfect. You'll come camping with us tonight," Monty said. "Bring a sleeping bag, a lamp and some booze if you have any. I'll meet you in the edge of the woods over by the first rest stop in the highway. 5 o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

Without further say, Monty sprang up from his seat and headed for the doorway.

"Wait. What? I can't go out tonight!"

"Sneak out or something. See you later."

"Weren't you gonna get a haircut?"

Monty slammed both doors open without stopping. He placed his hands over his head and made peace signs.

"I changed my mind."

Then he walked out the door and was out of Chase's sight in the blink of an eye.

Still hesitant, Chase arrived at the edge of the woods over by the first rest stop at a quarter to 5:00. It was completely deserted, save for a couple of old, battered cars and an even older and substantially battered van.

The place gave him the creeps. Everything was dead silent except for the voice in the back of his mind that screamed at him that he was about to walk into a horror movie scenario.

He was about to head back inside his car when he spotted Monty emerging from behind the restrooms. Another guy walked behind him.

When Monty laid eyes on Chase, he frowned and shook his head.

"Let's have a moment of silence for that golden mane that died this day," he said, referring to Chase's new crew cut, as he poured on the ground some of the water in his canteen. "May they do like a phoenix and rise again."

"You're a total weirdo," Monty's friend told him.

"Am I weird just because I oppose the tyranny of crew cuts?" Monty said, then pointed at Chase. "Face it, he looks like a mentally-challenged escapee from the loony bin. That's what a crew cut will do to you."

"Hey, I have a crew cut!" his friend protested.

"Case and point."

His friend punched him in the arm, but Monty just laughed it off. Meanwhile, Chase stared at them and wondered what in the world had possessed him to make him think this was a good idea.

"Get your shit, Chase. The others are waiting for us," Monty said still between giggles.

"Others?"

"The whole band is here," Monty's friend said.

"Band?"

The friend turned to Monty. "You didn't tell him about the tour?"

"Why would I?" Monty said. "I barely even know the guy."

"And yet you invited him over?!" he exclaimed.

And of course, Monty just shrugged and laughed.

"He looked depressed. I thought some company would do him good," he said. "Now let's go before these idiots burn down the forest or something."

They picked up Chase's things. He had carried way more than he would need, but Monty still complemented him on his preparedness.

"Great soldier this one will be," he said as they walked down a forest path towards the distant glow of a campfire.

They soon reached a clearing only about a hundred yards from the lake's shore. Two people, a girl and another guy, were sitting on overturned logs by the fire. The girl's hair was hanging barely a few inches over the ground, and the armholes in her shirt were so wide that Chase caught a small glimpse of side-boob, but turned away instantly, his face getting warm. The guy was very thin, wore skinny jeans and had some of the locks on the back of his head tied in the world's smallest ponytail.

"Idiots, this one is Chase," Monty said. "Chase, these are The Idiots."

"It's the name of our band," the girl said. "I'm Britta, and this is Fry."

The guy with the ponytail waved at him with a pair of drumsticks.

"And I'm Freddo, by the way," said the guy who had been carrying Chase's tent and sleeping bag all the way from his car. "Unfortunately, you already know Monty."

"Hello," Chase said. "Thanks for inviting me, I guess. I hope I'm not interfering."

He carefully started setting his things on the ground, trying to keep them away from the flames. Monty and Freddo simply dropped them, letting a small cloud of dirt rise up as the three of them took their seats around the fire.

"It's okay. We're used to it by now," Britta said. "Monty likes picking up stray puppies."

"Obviously. I mean, who doesn't like puppies?" Monty took off both his shoes and socks. He started to warm his toes by the fire.

"I'm allergic to dogs," Fry said. "If they get close enough I start sneezing so much that I can't breathe."

"See? If Fry dies that's an added bonus," Monty said. "Besides, I couldn't leave this one behind. Chase is so lost it's almost hilarious."

"Like, how lost?" asked Freddo.

"He doesn't listen to music."

There was a collective gasp among the group.

"Dude, are you even alive?" Britta rubbed her shoulders as if the mere thought of not listening to music was giving her shivers.

Four pairs of eyes were on him, and Chase hated that spotlight. He felt pearls of sweat form on his forehead.

"I listen to some music," he said. "My parents have some gospel albums in our house. Those sound good."

In the blink of an eye, Monty was standing on his bare feet.

"Gospel? Freaking gospel?" He shook his head. His look of disapproval wasn't as harsh as some Chase had gotten. It was playful more than reproaching, like if they could laugh about it later. "That's it. We gotta give this young lad a taste of some real music. It is our duty."

The Idiots were on their feet, heading for the parking lot before Chase had a chance to protest.

A quick trip to their van later, they had their instruments set up on their campsite. Like he had said, Monty was the lead guitarist. Britta played the base and Freddo was in charge of keys. Fry was percussions, but he had refused to carry his drum set all the way from the van. Instead he sat on a log behind the others with a pair on bongos on his lap.

"We mostly play covers, but we give them our own spin," Monty explained. "We have a couple of original songs, but they're not quite polished yet."

"I wouldn't know the difference," Chase admitted.

"See, you guys? This is the type of audience we need on our tour," Britta said.

"Partially non-existent?"

"Are you Idiots ready or what?" Fry started banging rapidly on his bongos. "And a five, six, seven, eight..."

Even with Chase's limited musical knowledge, he could still tell they were not very good. They were not in sync with each other, rushing and dragging at random parts and out of tune even to the most inexperienced ears. Furthermore, he did not recognize a single one of their songs, hence he could not tell if the low quality was on purpose. And yet he still clapped until his hands were red at the end of each song. Even if he could not appreciate the music, he was still impressed by their performance. He could see the raw passion in every chord they struck and even verse they sang.

Freedom you won't ever have again, he reminded himself.

As an after-practice ritual, Monty broke out a cooler full of beers, and together they toasted with shots of tequila. The alcohol went to their heads pretty quickly, and soon enough they were sitting around the fire, laughing uncontrollably.

"So, let me see if I got this straight," Fry told him. "You're going to military school?"

"Yup. Sargent John's Military Academy," Chase replied.

Fry nodded. "You don't look like the army type. You're too..."

"Wimpy," Britta exclaimed. "It's the glasses, right? They make him look like a chump."

The others replied with a provocative Ohhhhhh.

"Are you just going to take that?" Monty asked him, smirking.

Immediately he knew that he was going to have to fight back. He scanned Britta up and down for any fault he could use, but she was pretty close to perfect.

His only option was hitting low and hard.

"At least my boob hasn't been peeking out of my shirt all night," he said.

The guys laughed out loud as Britta's jaw dropped. She didn't look hurt, which was a good sign.

"Yeah, laugh it off, Idiots," she said as she crossed her arms around her chest. "I'm not ashamed. I'm proud of all of me. The only reason I'm not naked right now is because I would cause you four simultaneous heart attacks."

"That's not a bad idea," Monty exclaimed, lunging his empty beer bottle towards the woods. "Let's go skinny dipping."

"Hell yeah!" Fry exclaimed. His shirt was off instantly, which he promptly tossed in Chase's face.

The others followed through, striping off their clothes as they pranced down towards the lake. Behind them, Chase had not taken off as much as a single sock. He arrived at the pier before the lake just in time to catch a glimpse of Monty as he jumped, butt-naked, into the murky water.

"Hurry up, Chase!" he called.

He took a deep breath and started stripping off his clothes. First his shoes, one by one, then his socks. The more time he took, the more The Idiots were teasing him.

Shyly he approached the end of the pier, his face hot and getting hotter as he stood on the edge in nothing but his boxers.

"Aww, he's shy," Britta exclaimed as she bounced in and out of the water, giving everyone an eyeful.

"Don't chicken out on us now, dude," said Fry. "Come on, take them off."

Collective chants followed.

"TAKE THEM OFF! TAKE THEM OFF" TAKE THEM OFF"

Hesitantly, Chase grabbed the elastic of his boxers with his thumbs and index fingers. In one swift motion, he pulled down his boxers and jumped to the lake. He heard The Idiots cheer just a second before he felt the freezing bite of the water.

He stayed submerged until his lungs burned, thinking about all that could had been had he kept his mouth shut, and all that happened after he decided to come out with the truth. Maybe if he had done it sooner, his lungs wouldn't burn so badly. Most of the time he couldn't breathe anyhow.

Chase and The Idiots swam for hours on end, naked and drunk, until their muscles ache and the water was numbingly cold.

As the others dried off in the pier, Chase swam to a nearby shore hidden behind a wall of reeds. At some point, his self-consciousness had struck back, and he found himself with the dilemma of powering through the embarrassment or sneaking around until he could get a hold of his clothes without being seen.

He chose the latter. Being brave had not brought anything good for him as of late.

He emerged from the water, dripping and shivering, stretching his neck over the rows of reeds to locate his clothes.

"Still quite shy, I see."

"Dude!"

Chase's hands shot down to cover his deal as Monty casually emerged out of the water.

"Stop being so dramatic, you got nothing to worry about," he said. "I mean, did you even see Freddo? You're pretty easy on the eyes in comparison."

Chase felt as if his face was about to explode from blushing so much. He wondered if his face was red enough to be actually glowing in the pale moonlight.

When he was standing a mere ten yards away, Monty flung something in his direction. Chase caught it out of reflex, but immediately regretted it as it meant that his had left his business uncovered. Then he realized that Monty had actually thrown him his boxers, an a rush of relief overtook him as he quickly slipped them on. He was embarrassed, but at least Monty had also put on something.

"God dammit! I love the view from here," Monty said as he sat in the sand, facing the lake. Chase took a seat next to him, careful to stay properly far enough. "I'm going to miss this place."

"So, you guys are really going on tour?"

"Yeah, there's no backing down now," Monty said. "I mean, we know we suck but at least we're doing what we love. That's good, right?"

"I guess."

"It won't be easy. I don't expect it to be," he said. "Our parents sure as hell didn't wanted to help us. They said that if we were going to screw up our lives, they would not take part of it. And who knows? Maybe they're right. Maybe we're screwing up our lives, but at least we're doing what we love and we're being who we are. I'm being who I am."

"Yeah."

"And you? Are you cool with going to that school?"

"I guess."

"You don't sound the least bit excited," Monty said. "How about you come with us instead? I'm sure that we can find something for you to do on stage. Maybe shake a tambourine, or when I sing, you sing harmonies."

"I'm not much of a singer."

"Then what are you exactly, Chase?"

He felt a knot forming in his throat as Monty's words echoed in his head.

What are you exactly, Chase?

What are you?

What?

Chase?

What are you?

"Hey, what's wrong?"

He hadn't felt the tears rolling down his cheeks until Monty had snapped him back into reality. His arms were shaking, but not from the cold. He thought that if he tried to speak, the words would just get caught in his throat, just like they had before. In the living room. With Mom and Dad. Before he spoke. Before the screams.

"It's not Sargent John's," he said, his voice a mere whisper.

"What?"

Monty's hand reached for his shoulder but he pulled away, burying his face on his knees and crying. He needed to find his voice again.

"It's not Sargent John's Military Academy. It's St. John's Youth Camp," he sobbed. "It's a Pray the Gay Away Camp."

He allowed the words to echo. Allowed the truth to settle. Stewed on the sounds of the forest with the soft crash of the waves on the lake's shore and the distant rustling of branches.

His heart was trying to leap out of his chest, and he wasn't really breathing anymore. He was preparing for the worst. He was bracing himself for the grunts of disgust, for the rejection and the screams. The name-calling and the displeasure. But mostly the screams.

Screams that never came.

For an instant, his entire body shook as he felt Monty's arms wrap around him. The thought that maybe he was trying to throw him on the ground flashed through his mind, but the time passed and that didn't happen either. He was shocked, completely paralyzed, unsure of what to do.

Monty did, though.

"It's okay, man. It's all okay," he said, not letting go of him. Pulling him closer in fact.

"W-- what?" Chase stuttered. A weeping exhale escaped him as Monty patted him on the shoulder.

"Just get through it, and we'll be waiting here for you, brother," Monty said. "Don't let them tell you for even a second that you have to be anything but yourself."

He never knew when they shifted positions, and he ended up crying on Monty's shoulder instead. He didn't realize when Britta, Fry and Freddo joined them, all of them drowning him in hugs and words of encouragement. Encouragement he needed desperately. People he could count on. Friends that would love him no matter what.

Sitting on the lake's shore, he thought that everyone could use some of those.