by Shae Connor
“Are you trying to fatten me up? I’m in training, you know.”
She blows a raspberry. “One doughnut won’t kill you. I’ll leave the rest in the TV room. They’ll last about two seconds there.”
“If that.” I flip open the pizza box and pull loose a slice. Annie follows suit, and we finish the first few bites before she speaks up again.
“So. You and Darryn.”
I shake my head as I swallow. “There is no me and Darryn.”
“But you want there to be.”
I take a sip of root beer while I figure out how to dodge that one. “Darryn’s not…he doesn’t…”
Annie snorts. “He does.” She takes another bite and watches my reaction.
I fold like an umbrella. “He did,” I admit, picking at a slice of pepperoni. “I screwed it up.”
“As you do.” Annie tosses down the remains of her crust and reaches for her root beer. “What did you do?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Didn’t trust him enough to come out to him.”
Annie chokes on her soda. “Wait. You didn’t come out to me until we were eighteen. You still haven’t come out to our parents. Pretty sure Darryn and Mo are the only other people who know at all.”
“Yeah, but…” I blow out a breath. “I didn’t actually tell him. He figured it out. He was waiting for me to tell him.” I shake my head. “I never did. And he decided that meant I didn’t trust him.”
“Oh.” Annie’s head of steam deflates.
“Yeah. Oh.” I drop my second slice of pizza back in the box, untouched. My appetite’s gone, my stomach too busy twisting to digest. My head’s not doing much better. It feels even worse when I say all that out loud.
Annie reaches for a napkin. “I guess I get why he came to a conclusion like that. But he forgot one kind-of-big thing.”
I poke at a bit of cheese. “What’s that?”
Annie pokes me until I look her way. “He never told you, either.”
I can only shrug in response. “Yeah, I thought of that.” Like, only a thousand times since then. “But he was just figuring out that he liked guys. I’ve known for a while. I should’ve told him a year ago. Now he’s mad. Probably doesn’t even want to see me.”
Annie leans back against the wall, staring at me. “Wow. You’re really shooting for the depths of despair, aren’t you?”
The sound that leaves my throat would never be confused for an actual laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s dark and quiet down here and nobody expects anything of me. I’m thinking I’ll just hang out here for a while.”
“Well, fuck that noise.” Annie smacks my shoulder with the back of her hand. “Get that bullshit out of your system and pull yourself together. Sooner, not later.”
I stare at her. “Why does it matter?”
She grabs my chin in one hand. “Because you aren’t going to do anyone any good soaking in your own self-pity. And by anyone, I mean Darryn.”
I jerk my head away from her grip. “That’s a low blow.”
“Nope.” She picks up her pizza. “I think it’s exactly at the right height.” She wiggles the slice in my direction. “Unless you’d rather I slap you across the face with this? I hear pepperoni is great for your skin.”
I push her hand away. “All right, I get the point.” I reach for my abandoned pizza slice. “Is it okay with you if I wallow a little longer? I haven’t even gotten a full day in yet.”
Annie grins around her bite. “One night,” she agrees. “Tomorrow, it’s back to real life. Warts and assholes and all.”
I snort. “Can we keep talk of warts separate from talks of assholes?”
“Gross. And deal.”
She pokes me in the ankle with her toe. I retaliate by trapping her foot between mine, and within seconds, we’re in a full-fledged foot war, laughing like the idiots we are.
This right here? This is why she’s here tonight. And I love her for it.
…
I try to let everything go that night. I do. But I sleep for crap, and the whole next day feels like swimming through oatmeal. My brain’s foggy, my body’s sort of achy, and by the time I hit the gym for practice, I’m about ready to curl up on a mat and pull my hoodie over my head.
“Clark!”
First, time to pay the piper for missing yesterday’s practice.
I head over to where Coach Everson’s waiting for me. He doesn’t have literal steam coming out of his ears, so that’s a good sign.
I stop in front of him. “Sorry, Coach. I don’t have an excuse.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “That’s not what I heard.”
I blink in surprise before my sluggish brain catches up. Of course he knows what happened. Even if he hadn’t heard through the school’s official channels, gossip runs through this place like wildfire. Hell, he probably knew by the time we got Darryn to the hospital.
“I still should’ve—”
“Yeah, you should have, but extenuating circumstances.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Regular practice today, but I want you working with Kenny again next week.”
I can’t imagine having enough concentration for that so soon. On the other hand, that’s probably the point—give me something to focus on besides whatever’s going on with Darryn. I nod. “Yes, Coach.”
“Okay. Get to work.”
I nod again and head for the locker room, ready to hit the mats—instead of a mattress—and leave everything else behind for a little while.
Well, as much as I can without Darryn there beside me.
Suited up, I get to work, following Coach Sato’s direction to the floor exercise. I’m pretty sure that’s a calculated decision. In my current state, putting me anywhere above ground level is likely to end in nothing good.
Once I’m warmed up, I run through my routine, knowing it’s nothing close to my best but just glad to make it all the way to the end without wiping out. Coach Sato meets me at the edge of the mat, his gaze far too probing, but he’s gentler than I deserve.
“Not bad. You’ve got all the moves in place. If you can get that last tumbling pass nailed down, we might try working in more difficulty.”
I’m surprised at that, but I give yet another nod. I’m starting to feel like a bobblehead. “Maybe another twist on the second run? There’s more to work with there.”
“Maybe.” Coach claps me on the shoulder. “Right now, go through it again. Hit it harder this time.”
“Yes, Coach.”
I go through the exercise twice more before Coach sends me over to the high bar. I guess they figure with a spotter and double mats, I can’t damage myself too much there.
Seems they’re right. I only slip once, and I land on my feet. How metaphorical.
By the time I head for the locker room after focusing on my body for a couple of hours, my head’s in a better place. Not clear, but less muddy. It’s something, I suppose.
…
Annie drags me home that weekend—literally. She’s at my dorm room when I get there after practice Friday afternoon, and she grabs my arm and doesn’t let go until she shoves me into the front seat of our car. I grumble, but she turns on the radio—“driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole”—and concentrates on the mess otherwise known as Atlanta traffic.
I spend the trip staring at my phone. I’ve texted Darryn three times, just trying to check in. I haven’t gotten a response. I hope that means he’s spending his energy on recovery, and not that he’s actively avoiding me. Either way, I don’t want to bug him too much.
I still really, really wish he’d at least let me know he’s doing okay.
After thirty minutes, Annie pulls into our driveway, turns off the car, and blows out a breath. “Okay. Just the facts, no discussions of anyone’s sexuality, eat dinner, and then back to campus. Deal?”
I cle
ar my dry throat. “Deal.”
She gets out, and I shove my phone into my pocket as I follow her up to the porch. The front door opens as we climb the steps.
Dad greets us with a big smile. “The wanderers have returned!”
Annie rolls her eyes but steps into the hug he offers. “Not like we’ve been off exploring the world, Dad. We’re fifteen miles away.”
“It only feels like more because we never see you.” Dad lets her go and opens his arms to me. For just a few seconds, soaking up that hug, I feel like a kid again, with my parents standing like a shield between me and all the bad things out there.
It’s harder to let go than I’d like to admit, and I follow Annie into the house.
“Come on in, kids, dinner’s ready!” Mom’s voice comes from the kitchen, so we head in that direction, only to meet her halfway in the dining room. She’s got a bowl of salad in her hands, and the table already holds a pan of lasagna and a smaller one of garlic bread. Annie makes a happy little sound—it’s one of her favorite meals—and takes her usual seat at the table while simultaneously reaching for her plate and the big spoon sticking out of the pan.
We go through the usual process of serving our plates, but as soon as we’re all settled, Mom asks the question. “What’s all this that happened, Grant?”
My first bite of lasagna lands in my stomach like lead. I focus on my plate while I tell her, in as few words as I can manage. “Darryn was friends with this guy who turned out to be…well, abusive, I guess. They argued in our room and Rich knocked Darryn into the wall. It was an accident”—as much as it pains me to admit, it’s the truth—“but he still sprained his wrist and dislocated his shoulder.”
I take in a deep breath, trying not to relive what happened. Just talking about it is bad enough. I don’t need to go back over every detail again. And definitely not in front of my parents, who are still missing a big piece of the story.
“Oh my goodness.” Mom reaches out to lay a hand over mine. “Is he going to be okay?”
I push back the question of whether I’m okay and give her a tiny smile. “He should be. I didn’t see him after we got to the hospital, but his dad told me he was okay. I mean, it’ll take him a while to heal. But he’ll be okay.”
“That’s terrible.” Dad’s frowning face, brow furrowed, is exactly what I expected to see. “Did they arrest the other boy?”
“Yeah,” Annie breaks in. “That’s how I found out what was going on. I heard the sirens, and then our friend Mo called and told me to get over to Grant’s dorm. I saw them put someone in a police car. I didn’t know for sure it was Rich until I got to the hospital.”
I stare at her. She hadn’t told me that much detail. But then, I hadn’t asked. My only concern was to make sure Darryn got the help he needed. Rich could fall off the face of the earth for all I cared.
“Oh my. Poor Darryn.” Mom squeezes my hand. “I hope the school is doing something about it. That bully should be expelled.”
I don’t have any answers to give her. I cut off another tiny bite of lasagna, then set down my fork. The way my stomach is roiling, I don’t dare try to eat it.
Annie saves me. “I’m sure they’re working on all that, since it happened in the dorm,” she says. “They’ll make sure it’s all taken care of.”
“Good,” Dad replies. His gaze on me makes me want to squirm. One of those parental specialties, I guess. I do my best to ignore it. I never have been a good liar. I never got in too much trouble when I was growing up, but I still get caught in half-truths and omissions an embarrassing number of times. If I say anything more now, I’m likely to spit out the rest of the story. And I’m absolutely not ready to come out to my parents right now.
Annie reads me, again. “Anyway, that’s the big news of the week.” She almost sounds normal, even. “Usually the most excitement on campus is when the dining hall sets up the banana split bar.”
That forces a snort of a laugh out of me, and the tension around the table drops by about a thousand percent. Annie grins and launches into a story about two guys in one of her computer classes almost coming to blows over Mac versus PC, and the rest of us go back to our dinners. My appetite is still MIA, but I force myself to eat a reasonable amount before I set down my fork and finish my tea. Mom’s finished by then, too, so I stand and reach for her plate and mine.
“You don’t have to do that, dear,” Mom starts to object, but I shake my head.
“You cook, we clean up,” I tell her. “Them’s the rules.”
I take the plates into the kitchen, and I’ve just finished scraping and rinsing them for the dishwasher when Annie joins me carrying her plate and Dad’s. “Buttering them up for more revelations?”
I shake my head violently as I slide the first two plates into the dishwasher rack. “Nope. I’ve had enough emotional exposure for one night.”
Annie finishes scraping her plates, but when she hands them over for me to rinse, she pauses and catches my gaze. “You know they aren’t going to mind.”
I stare at her, biting my lip, then nod. “Rationally, yeah, I know. Tell my rampant teenage anxiety that.”
Annie rolls her eyes and lets go of the plates. “We’ll be twenty in May,” she points out. “No more blaming the teen years or the hormones.”
“Sure,” I tell her as I turn toward the sink. “No problem. Piece of cake.”
She smacks my arm. “Doofus.”
I respond with a hip-check. “Dork.”
Some things will never change, no matter how old we get. It’s a strangely comforting thought.
Of course, there are downsides to being a twin. We might not have actual telepathy—it sure would be helpful if we did—but we’re pretty darn good at reading each other’s moods.
“Still haven’t heard from Darryn?”
I wince as I scrub at a stubborn bit of baked-on cheese on the edge of the lasagna pan. “Nope.”
“Have you called him?”
“Also nope.” I turn to slide the pan into the dishwasher.
“Why not?”
I don’t have a good answer for that one. I shrug. “He hasn’t answered my texts.”
“Duh.” Annie smacks my shoulder lightly. “He injured his wrist. Might make it kind of hard to type, don’t you think?”
I facepalm at myself. “I imagine it would.” I drop my hand and give her a look. “I’ll call him tomorrow. Promise.”
“Good.” Annie hands me the last two glasses. “Now let’s get this finished up and go watch something mindless with the parents.”
I laugh. “That sounds like the best idea I’ve ever heard.”
Chapter Nine
I keep my promise. Sunday night, just before I head to bed, I call Darryn. It rings and rings, finally rolling over to voicemail. My throat closes up as I listen to Darryn’s voice asking me to leave a message, but I manage to force out a few words.
“Hey,” I say. “Just checking in to see how you’re doing. I hope you’re not in too much pain. Um.” I swallow. “Take care of yourself.”
I end the call before I start rambling. I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling, my traitorous brain playing and replaying the conflict with Rich and its aftermath, until I finally fall into a fitful sleep in the wee hours.
I’m dragging my tailfeathers when I get to the gym Monday afternoon. Coach Everson doesn’t waste a second when I walk in.
“Clark!” he yells. “Get dressed out and hit the floor. You’re with Washington today.”
I muster up as much energy as I can to reply. “Sure thing, Coach!” I head toward the locker room, nodding toward a few teammates as I pass them. I’m suited up within minutes and head back out. Kenny’s already on the floor exercise mat warming up, so I join him, going through my usual pre-practice stretches.
Focusing on my body works its usual magic. By the time I’
m ready to go, I’m feeling more alert, but my mind’s quiet. What happens outside the gym stays outside the gym.
I turn toward Kenny, who’s climbing to his feet from what I have to admit was a pretty impressive backbend. “You ready?”
Kenny nods and gives a tiny smile. “As I’ll ever be.”
I chuckle. “I doubt that.” I step off the edge of the mat and wave one arm. “Let’s see how you’re doing. You want to run the whole routine or just that section?”
Kenny ponders for a second. “One run-through would probably be good.”
“Okay then.” I clap my hands. “Go for it.”
I watch as Kenny moves to his starting spot, collects himself, and then spins into action, his routine starting with a pivot on one foot. He doesn’t have a high difficulty level overall, but his moves are precise, each turn sharp, every landing stuck. When he gets to his flairs, they’re executed properly and definitely improved from our last session, but he’s still not getting the height he needs.
He finishes in a full split, his arms extended up in a perfect vee, and I clap twice as he relaxes and meets my gaze for a second before climbing up off the mat.
“Good job,” I tell him as I walk over to him. “Your flairs look sharp, but you could still add some height. Don’t give up any momentum as you go through them. Keep pushing from start to finish.”
Kenny nods quickly before glancing up at me, biting his lip, and throwing me completely off balance. “I, um. I don’t know if it’s okay to ask.” He keeps his voice low. “How’s Darryn? I haven’t seen him back around campus yet.”
I take in a quick breath. “He’s okay,” I say, hoping it’s the truth. “He’s at home for now so he has his parents to help him with stuff.”
I stop there, and Kenny shifts from one foot to the other. “Are you two…um…”
My stomach clenches, but I hold in my instinctive reaction and shake my head. “No offense,” I say, as gently as I can manage, “but that’s none of your business.”