The lone ceiling fan did little to alleviate the heat in the ice cream parlor. It pushed the hot air around and around, spinning with determination, as the sole flustered employee attempted to cool himself down. He had spent a great deal of time at the sink, running cold water over his hands as he washed the ice cream scoopers numerous times, repeating this unnecessary process until he remembered that there was a water shortage and hastily turned off the tap.

Next, he had found a brief respite alongside the products he scooped so cheerfully. The ice cream itself was refrigerated in freezers that were large enough to fit a gangly teenager. However, he had soon realized that these boxes were far too cold to provide a realistic retreat. Enclosed in the tomb-like freezer, he began to shiver as his sweat froze in icy droplets down his chest.

All in all, working at McCool’s Ice Cream Parlor this summer was decidedly uncomfortable. Alexander’s boss had decided to cut down on costs, and air conditioning had been the first nicety to go.

Silently, the teenager cursed his employer.

His shift would not be over for another hour and there was not a customer in sight. With the guilty appearance of someone doing wrong, Alex discretely placed the sports section of the newspaper on the counter. He began to read the baseball section, his lips twitching thoughtfully every so often. Despite his lack of movement, he found himself becoming uncomfortably hot. After a brief reflection, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Screw this,” and opened the ice cream freezer, standing in front of the cool air with relief.

The bells on the door tinkled and he guiltily snapped the freezer shut. He attempted to look alert, stashing the newspaper in his apron so that it bulged suspiciously. With a cheerful voice and a dip of his head, he asked, “Can I help you?”

On the surface, Alexander was just another teenage boy working for beer money at a dead-end summer job. However, in Bayfield, looks were deceiving.

He smiled winningly.

It is an intrinsic part of human (and near-human) nature to make a snap judgement about someone based on their appearance. People judge by looks. It’s just one of those things.

The first thing someone looking at Jason Abigail Wallace is likely to think is: gay. He wears it written all over him, in the angles of his body, in the meticulous lines of his gelled hair, and especially in his manner of dress.

He’s out in this end of town taking a break from mind-numbing film editing, so he’s dressed comfortably but brightly, to keep his spirits up and keep from feeling slummy. His jeans are New Jean Blue, tidy and lacking any ‘fashionable’ holes; they're incongruous in the heat, but Jay avoids wearing shorts whenever possible. His shirt’s pink, and has Nintendo’s Mario and Luigi on the front, no text. His hair’s a ridiculous shade of blond-gold that doesn’t even begin the match his eyebrows. His shoes are the best part—they’re the white and pink sneakers he’d ordered special. The heels light up as he walks.

Add in the miles of jelly bangles per wrist, and we’ve got someone who seems most at home giving the appearance of stereotype.

He’s not putting on a show, though, so his hips aren’t swaying as much as they sometimes do. Jay just wants an ice cream—pralines and cream, if they’ve got it. There’s a certain tiredness in his gray-blue eyes; editing metaphorical miles of digital film on an out of date Mac will do that to a guy.

“Do you have pralines and cream?” He smiles, superficially, just to be polite. He’s not in the mood to be Friendly, and Make a Human Connection. (Near-human.)

Alexander had not truly been paying attention when this customer walked through the door. He looked up when the customer spoke, brown eyes widening, and examined the flamboyantly -dressed figure standing in front of him. Inwardly, he cringed. Obvious homosexuals made him uncomfortable, as did anything that his straight-laced Catholic mother deemed socially inappropriate. The teenager was a good boy, however, and his reaction whenever uncomfortable was to become unbearably nice.

He nodded with a smile and pointed to where the tub of pralines and cream lay nestled amidst other flavors. He wandered over to where an elaborate display of cones and cups were set.

"We sure do," The teenager replied with an extra-ordinary amount of enthusiasm, "and it's great, too! What size would you like?"

He flushed as though he assumed that this comment would be taken in the wrong way. In the way of most high school, close-minded jocks, he tugged his baseball hat closer over his eyes and prayed that his discomfort wasn't too visible. He feigned a brilliant smile, though his eyes remained riveted on the jelly bangles.

Jay winces, just for a split second. The ice cream clerk’s over-wrought over-brightness slices across his tired nerves, jaggedly and cheerfully obvious. He’s made enough people uncomfortable in his life that he doesn’t just recognize the signs of it—he internalizes them without thought.

He reacts defensively; automatically.

“Well,” big bright grin, “give me your biggest size, sugar.”

His posture changes, subtly, challengingly—hip thrust out just a bit more, shoulders drawn back just a bit farther. He seems to suddenly take up more room, and his stare is direct and acerbic. You’re uncomfortable, it says.

Too Bad For You.

"Sure thing!" Alex seemed momentarily stunned - had he just been addressed as sugar? - but recovered in a remarkable few seconds. "Biggest size! Right away!"

He was vaguely aware that he sounded like a brain-dead ten year old, punctuating every statement with a raised voice that clearly indicated an exclamation point. He found himself babbling, trying not to notice the thrust hip, the shoulders thrown dramatically back, and especially pretending that those light-up sneakers were a perfectly normal occurrence at McCool's Ice Cream Parlor.

"Well, sir, we've got all of these different styles of the biggest cones." For a moment, the teenager seemed to recover. Ice cream cones were familiar territory, something that he had even come to appreciate with an inordinate passion. He began to describe each cone with loving, overtly enthusiastic detail.

"Chocolate-covered! Cookie-dough! Rainbow sprinkles, chocolate sprinkles! They're all right here, on this side of the case." He pointed with all the grace of a teenage boy, rapping the plastic over the top of each cone as he mentioned it. The newspaper slipped out of his apron and fell into a messy pile onto the ground, but he made no move to pick it up. The only indication that he had even noticed this noisy distraction was that his ears turned a bright, violent red.

Jay had actually come in here to get a small double-scoop, one and a half if the guy was willing to ring that up. The problem is that he’s already taken that step too far—your biggest size!—and ego won’t let him back down now.

He leans a bit forward, twisting contrapposto.

“Mmmn,” he says, a lower-throat decision-making noise that his friends who recognize as either Jay flirting or Jay making an aggressive tactical move in the war against People He Makes Uncomfortable.

“Rainbow sprinkles, pumpkin,” and pumpkin is a word he only trots out insincerely. “Can you put on extra?”

This isn’t the bored, disinterested, relatively mature Jason Wallace of a few moments ago. All his attention is focused on the kid behind the counter; it’s as though he’s suddenly exploded from quietly self-involved into Battle Mode. Which is basically the case.

Someday someone should explain to him that reacting to discomfort by layering it on thick might not be the best tactic.

The low-throat purr produced a strangled, sort of distressed half-laugh from Alex's mouth. He tried to look everywhere and nowhere at the same time, his eyes darting randomly around the room, peering anywhere but at the twisted, gelled guy leaning on the counter.

"Rainbow sprinkles! Sure thing!" The teenager agreed, his voice unnaturally high-pitched, leaning back at the word pumpkin. He quickly snapped a glove onto one of his tanned hands and snagged a rainbow-sprinkled, extra-large cone. He walked over to the ice cream freezer and began to scoop ice cream.

The extra-large cone held four scoops of ice cream. He added five, just to be nice, and moved to the toppings section. His hand shook as he literally poured rainbow sprinkles onto the ice cream.

A girl had never had this effect on him. Come to think of it, even the most fearsome demon he had faced while dreamwalking had never made his entire body shake with nervousness.

This fact disconcerted him far more than anything else.

"Hot fudge?" Alex asked brightly, the monstrous ice cream concoction in hand.