I rolled onto my side and looked up. The loafers belonged to a tall, slender man. He had dark hair, a neat mustache, and a sweater slung over his shoulders. He was kind of handsome—almost pretty. He wore a gold ring in his left ear. He looked to be about thirty.

“Who are you?” I asked suspiciously.

“Your fairy godfather. My name is Melvin. Come on, stand up and let’s see if we can’t do something with you.”

“Are you making fun of me?” I asked. After Butch’s last attack, I had had about enough of people calling me a fruit for one day.

“Moi?” cried the man, arching his eyebrows and laying a hand on his chest. “Listen, honey, I have nothing but sympathy for you. I had to deal with my share of troglodytes when I was your age, and I know it’s no fun. I’m here to help.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I told you, I’m your fairy godfather.”

He waited for me to say something, but I just sat in the puddle, glaring at him. (It was uncomfortable, but I was already soaked right through my undershorts, so it didn’t make that much difference.)

“You know,” he said encouragingly, “like in Cinderella?”

“Go away and let me suffer in peace,” I growled, splashing muddy water at him.

He flinched, and frowned, but it was a reflex action; the water that struck his pants vanished without a trace.

I blinked, and splashed at him again, this time spattering a double handful of dirty water across his legs.

“Are you angry, or just making a fashion statement?” he asked.

I felt a little chill. No spot of mud nor mark of moisture could be seen on the perfectly pressed khakis. “How did you do that?” I asked.

He just smiled and said, “Do you want your three wishes or not, Vincent?”

I climbed out of the puddle. “What’s going on here?” I asked.

He made a tsking sound. “I think it’s pretty obvious,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, let’s go get a cup of coffee and talk. All your questions will be answered in good time.”

The first question I thought of was “How much trouble is it going to give me to be seen with this guy?” With Butch and his crowd already calling me “faggot” and “fruit,” walking around with a guy who moved the way Melvin did wasn’t going to do anything to improve the situation.

The first question I actually asked was, “Do you have to walk like that?”

“Like what?”

“You know,” I said, blushing a little. “So swishy.”

Melvin stopped. “Honey, I gave my life to be able to walk like this. Don’t you dare try to stop me now.”

“Don’t call me honey!” I snapped.