by RJ Martin
I passed the convenience store/gas station and Bart Sr.’s restaurant and bar that were the only places open year-round. Big Bart also owned a lot of other stuff in town. That Bart Jr. wanted a scholarship and practiced obsessively was kind of bizarre, considering his dad was maybe the only guy in town that could afford the tuition. I guess it was a competition thing. Like who’s got the biggest junk or can bench the most weight. JC never did stuff like that and neither did I. In the winter, Big Bart’s restaurant, The Lake House, was really just a bar that served food. Locals gathered there to watch “the game” and drink beer. The big patio overlooking the water was now sealed behind plastic sheeting until the summer people brought back the sun. The seasonal residents kept the town alive, but the locals didn’t like the way they acted as if they owned the place. Actually, when you thought about it, they kind of did.
Little puddles of slush splatted under my sneakers. I’d worn them instead of my shoes because I thought they’d be more comfortable on the long walk. I looked down at the soggy leather, already beginning to crack, and knew I’d screwed up. Sneakers cost money.
I passed old Holy R School and new church. Kids would be making their first Communion in the spring, and construction-paper chalices hung in the windows of their classroom. At Holy R I’d been a rock star. Our school was famous once for turning out priests. I was the first real candidate in years and that made me a big deal. If Coach Danetto had the in with athletic directors at a bunch of schools with Saint or Holy in their names, Father Dom had the hook-up at the seminary. He used to make a point of talking to me every time he visited our classroom. Other kids sometimes even got jealous. He still did when I served Mass with him. Father Svi didn’t have much time for me then or now. He was too rushed to chat up anyone.
The sidewalk ended, and I picked up my pace, dreading the last leg down the dark two-lane road that led past Chad’s house to mine, the only two this far out. It was almost all uphill, just like my time had been at NC3. For a religious school, the students seemed pretty sinful. Guys talked about getting in girls’ pants or blowjobs and girls opened the top buttons on their blouses as soon as they got out of sight of the nuns and teachers. I guess I was kind of jealous. The only thing about being gay that really bothered me was knowing that if I toed the sexual water, I’d be putting my whole future at risk. At Holy R, I worked on book drives for orphans in Peru, food pantries for the local poor, bake sales for school, and gave out coffee and doughnuts to the once-a-year crowd that came to Mass on Easter. I knew that wouldn’t matter to some people there. They still wouldn’t want me around anymore. I kicked at a melting snowbank. Exploding bits of ice glistened in the last light of the day.
It wasn’t easy but nothing worth having was. Look at the saints; they had it really bad, especially the A-list. St. Peter got crucified upside down. The ones who didn’t get martyred gave up everything, traveled to faraway places, but all were tight with JC and therefore made stronger. Some of them even got to meet him, revealed at a moment when they’d become truly worthy. On lonely days, kind of like this one, I took comfort knowing this was what he wanted: to someday come to me. That all the crap I dealt with was his will; that making me gay in a straight town would take away any temptation. There was no one else like me around except maybe Chad, and I didn’t think of him that way ever. Searching for friends online wasn’t an option either because my whole family shared a dinosaur of a bulky computer. Our Internet was incredibly slow anyway and crashed all the time because of all the filters Dad put on after Angie’s blooming. I had an e-mail account, but I didn’t really get too many messages unless you counted the Finance Minister of Nigeria and his fellow spammers. My isolation was a good thing, I’d tell myself. JC wanted me to stay pure. It was the only way to really get to him. Texting would have been nice. No harm there, I guess, but I didn’t have a cell phone.
“Our Father who art in heaven,” I prayed aloud. Seminary was still two and a half years away, and that seemed like forever. At least there was the retreat, except I was poor, and Sister Margo was not being at all sympathetic about it. “Hallowed be thy name.” Each intake of crisp pine-scented air gave me more confidence. I’d figure something out about the retreat, Bart, and everything else. “Thy kingdom come.” I could—no, would do this. “Thy will be done.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A PAIR of almond-shaped headlights closed from behind and gave me a shadow. I spun around as the motor’s impressive growl made me tremble. Not sure if he saw me, I stepped off the shoulder. A sliver of ice shattered, and I landed ankle deep in a frigid puddle. The slick car—that screamed tourist—swerved my way and sent a wall of water over me from head to toe.
I cringed both with anger and fear. Two quick blasts from a horn, a real barking dog of one, shook the trees, and I saw the car stopped just ahead of me. Through the light fog of the dual exhausts, sleek taillights burned like devil’s eyes. A guy’s hand reached out from the passenger window and slapped the side of the door. There was no way I was going anywhere near this stranger, jerk. He was not from here, no way, no local had wheels like that. Even in the dark and stopped, the sleek alien pod seemed to be going a hundred miles an hour. Brilliant yellow like the sun the summer people brought. They had these kinds of cars, but this was March.
I could run into the woods. The car started to roll backward. Beneath the taillights’ demonic gaze, I half expected the trunk to become a mouth that would open wide and reveal a serpent’s maw of razor teeth. I knew I only had a few seconds before he’d be too close. If I was going to get away it had to be now. I picked my path, hard to do in near darkness. There appeared to be a little opening in the leafless saplings. I slid my bag back on my shoulder, shifted my weight, about to go.
“Jonah!” The stranger knew my name. He was out of the car and walking toward me with an ease of familiarity that was not the norm for overcautious Lake Henryites. He was too friendly and calm. Serial killers in movies acted like that. Now was the last chance to run. In an instant it would be too late. “Wait.” The moon cleared the treetops. Its silvery glow shimmered his blue eyes like sapphires and froze me to that spot. “You okay?”
“I think so.” Honestly I felt really weirded out and so seriously cold and numb, I had to look at my fingers to know they were still there.
“Hi, Jonah!” My sister, Angie, leaned out the driver’s window. “You’re soaked.” She let loose with a giddy laugh I think she created as a mash-up of an ’80s teen screen icon and a French beauty on her favorite want-to-be model show.
“Come with us.” The stranger put a hand on my sleeve. He wore a dark sweater, and a slouch beanie that completely covered his hair. His red-checkered scarf was kind of like the ones Arabs wore but on their heads. When I didn’t move right away, he took a firmer grip. His chiseled face was bathed now in the taillights’ demonic glow.
“W-where are we g-going?” I had to struggle against my shiver-induced stammer to get the words out and as soon as I did, I couldn’t believe how stupid they sounded. I couldn’t think of anything else, and I needed to stall for a moment and get my bearings. Angie sat behind the wheel of a car that might be worth more than our house and her new boyfriend was not from around here. He had the perfected look of the summer kids that had every flaw repaired before turning thirteen.
“We’re running away!” Angie shouted as we reached the sleek ride. The long howl of the horn marked her words. “Hurry up or we’ll be late!”
The stranger shook his head no, not happening. “I’m taking her home.” That word got me moving. The Gregory house was no palace, or even as good as the supposed middle-class ones in movies, with their green lawns and perfect paint. It didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to be home. To get dry, and now that my scholarship plan had so spectacularly exploded in my face, I had to plot how and when to try and get my parents to pay for the retreat.
“I’m Rusty.” He held out his free hand while keeping the other gripped on my arm.
“Jonah.” I
took it. He held my gaze until I looked away first. Rusty released my handshake and let his hand fall, but I noticed him wipe it across his jeans. I guess my palm had been sweating. He pushed down the sports car’s front seat, and I climbed in back.
“Rusty’s mother is Jace Naylor,” Angie said. When I didn’t react she added, “The writer?”
Rusty spun in his seat to face me. “You have no idea who she is, do you, Jonah?”
I shrugged. “Not really, sorry.”
“I knew I’d like this kid.” Rusty forgot about me, pecked Angie’s cheek, and cranked up the volume.
“I’m not a kid,” I said, but I got drowned out by the rapper’s voice coming through the surround speakers. The dude swore more in one riff than I’d heard in a year.
“That the radio?” I felt like I should say something.
“iPad,” Angie clucked. I didn’t have to see her face to know my sister rolled her eyes.
Mom told her they’d roll right out of her head if she didn’t “cool it.” And other times that she’d “really get them rolling” if Angie didn’t start behaving. That was a pretty lame threat. They never hit either of us, not that we gave much reason. I was a pillar of virtue, and Angie never meant any harm—at least how she acted after being caught. I could never decide whether her light just burned too bright for the long winter nights of Lake Henry, or she was a sociopath.
“Jonah, you don’t know who this is?” He used my name again.
“Trust me, he doesn’t,” Angie giggled. “You want me to change it?” She sounded sincere and turned down the “ho’s, bling, junk, Benjamins, skizzle, and badonkadonk, etc.” as my ears began to thaw.
Little dents formed in Rusty’s cheeks when he smiled. “This will warm you up.” He held out a silver flask like the kind I’d only seen in movies. Until that moment I didn’t believe anyone really used them.
“What is it?” Even a sniff of the stuff made my eyes water.
“You don’t have to, Jonah.” Angie swatted Rusty’s arm as in leave him alone.
She watched me in the rearview mirror of the sleekest ride I’d ever been in. All leather and chrome, it was awesome, except the backseat was designed for guys that made crackers in trees.
“Cognac.” Rusty raised the flask up against my chin. “It takes the edge off.” My lips parted and so did his as if he was sharing the moment. It flamed my whole insides going down. Angie tapped the brake and more got on my face than into me.
“Oops.” She shrugged and laughed again. I couldn’t tell whether she was saving me or making fun.
“My turn.” Angie let him pour some into her mouth. Rusty lizard-flicked his tongue and scooped up the little bit that got on her chin. I used my sleeve to get the last of it off my face.
He leaned back and took us both in. “You know that you look kind of alike.”
“No!” we both protested. Deep down we knew it was true. Angie and I shared ash hair, green eyes, and a long slender build with slight hips that looked sexy on a girl.
“I’m sorry, I take it back.” Making sure we knew he was not, Rusty swigged from his flask as he looked from one to the other of us. Before sliding back into his seat, Rusty put his fingers around mine. “You’re still cold.”
“Take off your coat, Jonah.” Angie eyed me in the mirror with an almost mom-like interest. “It’s drenched.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“I had no idea the puddle was that deep.”
“I can tell because you sound really upset about it.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Angie brought us all to a screeching halt. “Really, Jonah. You’re right, it’s not funny.”
“Yes, it is,” I said. To Angie it was, and I could never stay mad at her for long; no one could.
“I know,” she howled. “I thought you might be swept away.” Her guffaw subsided. “You’re okay, right?”
“Yeah.” No, but I didn’t want Rusty to think I was a wimp. This guy, Angie’s latest, was clearly her best so far. Plenty of girls were already jealous of her for the dudes that had come before.
“Better turn up the heat.” Rusty’s perfect teeth glowed blue, as did all the round dials on the chrome dashboard. The stereo had a million buttons and so did the console. He shed his sweater, and I got a glimpse of a six-pack before the crisp T-shirt fell down over the line of dark hair that started at his belly button and got thicker as it reached his belt.
As I struggled out of my soggy parka, Angie peeled off her coat that had a faux-fur collar. Her hands left the wheel, the car swerved to the right, and I fell forward against the back of their seats.
“You could pull over to do that,” Rusty scolded and grabbed the wheel. They must not’ve been dating too long because Rusty didn’t know the one thing she hated most was….
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“It’s my car.”
“Fine.” Angie slammed the brakes. “Come on.” She got out and waited but didn’t fold down the seat.
“Stay there.” Rusty slid in front of me so now I couldn’t go anywhere. Not that I wanted to. Let her walk for a change. Angie started to do just that and Rusty crawled the car forward to keep up. “She always like this?” He looked mad, and his biceps flexed as he gripped the wheel—little hills that rose and fell under his too-short sleeves.
“She usually gets her way.” I poked my head between the seats with thoughts about jumping up front, but then my gaze went where it shouldn’t. I saw the outline of his junk running down the leg of his jeans. Growing as I looked. Angie did that to guys. “Get in.” His voice deepened so that it sounded more like a grown-up’s.
“No.” Angie’s fun loving had another equally electric side. One I didn’t like and still scared me, more for her than others. I worried she’d spark up around the wrong people, like cops or something, and then she would get into real trouble.
“Please, get in.”
“Just because you’re rich you can’t order me around.”
“Jace has the money, not me.”
“She buy you that car?”
“You know she did.”
“Mama’s boy!” Her mocking made him honk, a quick blast echoed through bare branches.
“Knock it off!” She stopped and faced him now. “My dad might hear!”
“I thought you did what you wanted?” That stopped her. Finally, my sister had a worthy adversary. Challenged, Angie leaned over him and pressed down hard on the horn. Its wail went on so long it became part of the wind.
Rusty got out and grabbed her. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said in the same way all the guys who knew her did, whether they should be or not. Angie grabbed him around the neck and kissed her forgiveness all over his face. Their tongue wrestling reminded me of the seriously R-rated movies Chad watched on pay cable, late at night, on his folks’ basement den TV. I opted out of sleepovers because he always seemed to “accidentally” turn one on if I did. I thought having Darcy there would help, but she “accidentally” flipped to them more than him. They’d laugh themselves silly, and I’d go home and pray. They could be real jerks, but they were still my best and only friends.
“I DIDN’T see you at school today.” Angie tested me as she drove again. At last, going home. If I’d walked, I’d have been there twice by now.
“Do you ever?” We ignored each other at NC3, small as it was, just like we did everywhere.
“Anything happen?”
“School happened.”
That made her sigh. No conversation between us lasted much longer. We didn’t fight because we were never around each other long enough. If we were, she would just needle me until I took off. The next time I’d see her, Angie would say she was sorry. Then, just when my guard came down, she’d start all over again. We were so different. I doubted she was even a virgin anymore, while I intended to stay pure forever.
“Thanks for the sandwich, by the way.”
“Oh you must hate me today,” Angie snorted.
“It’s
just a sandwich.”
“What was wrong with the sandwich?” Rusty seemed actually interested.
“She gave me fluff.”
“She fluffed you, gross.”
“Don’t be vulgar, Rusty Naylor, or you’re walking.”
“It’s like marshmallow spread.” I knew what he’d said but tried to ignore it. “The twins like it with peanut butter.”
“I guess you’ll be looking for revenge, hmm?” Rusty baited me. “Better check your lunch tomorrow,” he told her.
“I don’t bring a lunch anymore!” Angie made the engine growl and sped up as if proving she was beyond kid stuff like eating. “Besides, my little brother is a saint.”
“You’re only two years older than me.”
“He’s fifteen.” I couldn’t help thinking we were doing a show for Rusty’s benefit.
“Almost sixteen.”
“He’s going to be a priest.”
Rusty subtly leaned away from me like he wasn’t doing it for effect, but like I weirded him out now too. “Good for you, Jonah,” he finally said.
“Thanks.” A tinge of real anger rose up in me toward Angie. Why did she say that? She had no right telling Rusty my business. I just met the guy. “How was your day?” I forced sincerity into my voice. “I didn’t see you.”
“Just boring classes.” Finished with me for now, Angie slid her hand over one of the really threadbare patches of Rusty’s distressed-on-purpose jeans.
“You go to college?” I stuck my head between the seats. Rusty sat back as Angie remembered her brother was sitting right behind her.
“Not yet.” He smiled, but there were no dimples. Rusty looked out the window at the passing black bars that were the trunks of young trees.