His Own Way Out

by Taylor Saracen

  Not only did Blake appreciate the change of scenery, he also enjoyed the program in which he had enrolled. He’d always been interested in law enforcement, and the Homeland Security curriculum seemed to be a good fit. Even though he didn’t put a ton of thought into future career options—figuring it out was something he could worry about in college—Blake did like the idea of having a job that varied depending on the assignment. With ADHD, it was difficult to be stuck in the same cycle. He needed movement and action, something more than the mundane nine to five.

  “Are you going to the wrestling meeting today?” Steve Cook asked Blake as they exited their classroom and walked toward the bus following the morning session at the Lexington Institute of Technology.

  Steve had been inquiring about Blake’s intentions regarding wrestling for the last few weeks. He wondered if Steve broached the topic because he had nothing else to talk to him about. If that was the case, Blake would have much preferred if his classmate didn’t speak to him at all. While he didn’t have anything against Steve, they didn’t really have much in common besides their shared interests in the Homeland Security program and wrestling. It would’ve been enough to elicit conversation with other people, but the way Steve approached topics made Blake uncomfortable. He was so blunt that it came off as abrasive.

  “Yup,” Blake answered coolly, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll be there.”

  “Coach will probably hand out information packets and stuff.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “That’s what he does every year and it’s always the same information.”

  “Hmm,” Blake nodded, wishing Steve could read social cues. It would have been quite obvious to anyone who was tuned in that Blake wasn’t interested in chatting.

  “Last year was your first year at WCHS, right? So, you’ve only had to sit through the meeting once before. I’ve done it twice. This will be my third time.”

  “Yeah.”

  As they climbed onto the bus, Blake hoped Steve would sit with a friend of his who was in the welding program, but unfortunately, he had no such luck. Pulling his hat low on his face, Blake tucked his chin to his chest and closed his eyes, hoping his intention to be left alone would be clear. It wasn’t.

  “So, are you looking forward to it?” Steve asked, popping gum into his mouth and offering Blake a piece.

  “No thanks,” he said, sighing out his aggravation and pinching the bridge of his nose under his frames. “Am I looking forward to what?”

  “To wrestling season.”

  “Oh. Yeah,” Blake nodded, edging as close to the bus window as he could get. “I’m going to nap.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.”

  “Can you sleep with all the noise?” Steve asked surprised.

  Very deliberately, Blake grabbed earbuds from his backpack and put them in, letting music fill his ears rather than Steve’s inane comments. Gazing out the window at the lush green landscape and picturesque farms, he imagined what it would be like to see the ocean instead, something so immense and mysterious, different from the same dips and hills he’d seen so many times before. Sometimes he had to remind himself that there was a whole world beyond the Kentucky state lines, a world where things would perhaps be better for him, where he would be understood.

  By the time the bus pulled into the Woodland County High School parking lot, Blake was more ready than ever for the wrestling season to begin. Maybe if he did well and made it to State, he could get on a recruiters’ radar and have the opportunity to earn a scholarship to a D1 school. Just the thought of what his future may hold spiked his confidence. He walked into the school with a swagger he hadn’t mustered since he transferred to the public school the year prior.

  As soon as Blake entered the building, he caught sight of Claire and two of her friends standing outside the library. They were smiling and laughing, books held tight against their chests as they caught up on the latest gossip. She was beautiful. He hadn’t allowed himself to really look at her since things had gone so wrong months before. Led by a surge of self-assuredness, Blake popped the buds out of his ears and approached the small circle of girls.

  “Hey,” he greeted, his eyes locked on Claire’s, making it obvious he was there for one reason.

  “Hi,” she replied tucking her straight brown hair behind her ears, unable to conceal how surprised she was by his presence.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Blake asked, noticing the shock on Claire’s friends’ faces. He wondered how often he’d been a topic of conversation. He hoped it was a lot.

  “Okay,” she nodded, following him down the hallway a bit. “How are you?”

  “How do I look?” he replied, grinning when her cheeks tinged pink. It was good to see he still drew the reaction.

  “You know what I mean,” Claire tsked, the slightest hint of a smile turning up the corners of her pink pout. “How’s everything?”

  “Everything’s good,” Blake answered easily. “I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.”

  “That must be good for your grades,” she grinned.

  “Yeah, and good for you, too.”

  “Why’s that?” Claire asked, clearly humoring him.

  “Because I have a masterplan.”

  “A masterplan?” she repeated, amusement dancing across her sky-blue eyes. “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Everything,” Blake said matter-of-factly. He moved closer to her, able to hear the way her breath stuttered at his proximity. He knew what got her, what drove her crazy, and the way she was biting her lower lip made him glad it was still him.

  She didn’t ask another question, backing away from the heat instead. While Blake was aware that Claire had a boyfriend, he didn’t really care. Things had been good between them before all the shit with Xander went down, and Blake wanted them to be that way again. It was unfathomable that his sexual orientation could impact her family so significantly, especially when it was one part out of the thousands he was made of. Had they forgotten about his sense of humor, respectful manner, and every other positive quality that they seemed to admire less than a year ago?

  Blake watched Claire rejoin her friends, giving her a mischievous smirk when she glanced over her shoulder at him.

  The swagger he’d acquired a few moments earlier was laced with a content pep in his step. He didn’t have a masterplan, but if he had he was positive that getting Claire worked up like he had, was number one on the list. He put a mental check mark next to phase one.

  With excitement about his interaction with Claire and the promise of wrestling season at the forefront of his mind, the remainder of the school day was pleasant. For the first time in a long time, things were headed in the right direction. The surge of positivity made it possible for Blake to overlook the cliquey vibe in the classroom where the wrestling meeting was held. The guys on the team had always been tight, so it wasn’t a surprise. They’d all grown up together, their lives bound to Unionville in a way that Blake’s never was. It had been challenging to be an outsider, but grew used to it after a while.

  “Welcome back, guys,” Coach Lowery said, his voice low and gruff despite the sentiment of his statement. “I’m not going to keep you here for longer than you need to be since you all know the drill. Take a packet, get a physical, have your parents sign the permission slips if you’re under eighteen, and show up at tryouts prepared to bust your asses to make the team. I don’t care who you are, if you don’t bring it, you’ll get cut.”

  Blake nodded, knowing he was primed to compete. He’d managed to build more muscle over the last month than he had over the course of the season the year before. He was strong and ready.

  Coach clapped. “That’s it, get out of here.”

  The classroom filled with the buzz of conversation as the guys walked to the back of the room to grab the paperwork.

  “Hey Blake. What’s good?” Andre Jackson asked, reaching out his hand to s
hake Blake’s.

  “Everything,” he grinned. It wasn’t a lie. “How are you?”

  “Doing good, man. Are you thinking about joining up this year?”

  “Yup,” Blake replied, amused by how obvious the answer was. “I’m here, so...”

  “Yeah,” Andre nodded, “You are.”

  They looked at each other for an awkward moment before Blake glanced away.

  “What about you...” Blake began. “Are you thinking about it?”

  “Yeah,” Andre answered, clicking his tongue. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Got it.”

  Blake nodded his head along with Andre’s, wondering why they were standing there like bumbling bobble-heads.

  “I’ll see you on the mat then,” Blake said finally, putting a period on the bizarre exchange.

  “See you there,” Andre said.

  Blake could feel Andre’s eyes on him as he picked up the paperwork. Between Steve and Andre, Blake was convinced the team was full of fucking weirdos, which was alright. He was kind of weird, too.

  5

  Drinking with Nick was more of a disparate experience than partying with Greg and Ian. While Greg typically remained coherent enough to look out for Blake, Nick was often just as far gone, if not more. The result was either that Blake would police himself better, or he would eagerly go into an alcohol-steeped abyss with his friend. The nearer wrestling season drew, the more responsible Blake had become when going out with Nick on the weekends. He found it even more imperative that he keep it under control after Coach’s informational meeting. Things were gearing up and he wanted to be ready for tryouts.

  “I’m going to go outside,” Blake told Nick as his buddy crowded the keg alongside a bunch of other kids from school. Gemma Green’s basement was dark and dank, and the sheer number of people packed into it had Blake feeling claustrophobic.

  When Nick asked him earlier that day if he wanted to hit up the party, Blake thought it was a good idea, but he found it hard to get into the mood.

  “Do you,” Nick shrugged, patting Blake on the back before swiveling to talk to a girl that was in Blake’s health class. The expression on her face was a clear indication that—try as he may—Nick wasn’t getting laid.

  Blake had never been around a guy as good looking as Nick who got rejected so often. He was aware that his friend’s personality wasn’t for everyone, but he didn’t find it as off-putting as the girl Nick tried to hit on did. While Blake definitely had some room to grow in the game department, he was an all-star player compared to Nick, a fact that he found both perplexing and awesome. A few times, Blake had attempted to observe exactly where things went wrong for Nick in his quest to get pussy, but there wasn’t one thing he could pinpoint as the issue. He made girls uncomfortable, and not in the intriguing bad-boy way. It was more a smarmy you-know-what-I-want-from-you vibe. Blake liked sex, and he didn’t mind leading with it when he was getting to know someone, but he was in-tune enough with people’s energy to recognize when shit wasn’t working. Nick wasn’t.

  Walking onto the porch, Blake took a seat in an oversized Adirondack chair, lit up a cigarette and took a drag. After a deep inhale he let out a longer exhale, watching as a grey plume of smoke snaked up toward the star-filled sky. The October air was crisp, but the alcohol that had settled in his stomach kept him warm. The parties he attended were always the same—cabins, barns, farms and kegs— but somehow, every night managed to feel different. Perhaps it was because he was different. So easily affected by his emotions that his temperament skewed the way he saw things, how he reacted. At times, he was driven to remain on the surface, not delving deeper into his feelings, accepting the world around him as it was. Mostly, though, he got caught in his head, too meta about the intricacies of social relationships and how he fit in—or didn’t. His penchant for elevated cognition could have been attributed to the amount of weed he’d smoked prior to leaving Nick’s house. The nights Blake found himself locked in his head often began with bongs and bowls. It was better that way. He liked to think deeper, to exist on a higher plane of consciousness, hang out above the minutia of the day.

  “Can I bum one off of you?” a guy asked, sitting in the chair beside Blake’s. Though the size of the furniture kept them far apart, Blake could smell the soap and beer on the boy he didn’t recognize. Somehow, when mixed with the stranger’s full lips and handsome face, the common combination of scents was intoxicating.

  “Uh, yeah, sure,” Blake replied, reaching for the pack he’d placed on his arm before lounging. He held it out to him and licked his lips as the guy rested the filter on his.

  “The lighter too?” the boy directed with a slight grin.

  Blake passed him the BIC and admired the length and gracefulness of the guy’s fingers as he flicked the wheel.

  “Thanks,” he grinned, returning the items to Blake before settling back in the chair.

  “No problem,” Blake said, tapping his toes in his sneakers as he tried to decide what to say. “You don’t go to Woodland, do you?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, I go to a private school up in Lexington. You go to Woodland?”

  Blake nodded. “Yeah.

  “How do you like it?”

  “It’s alright,” Blake answered easily. “It’s school, so I don’t know. It’s okay.”

  “You’re not into school?”

  Shrugging, Blake tapped his ash. “I don’t not like it, I guess. I think it’s the level of obligation that gets me. The lack of freedom.”

  “I can see that,” he contemplated, thoughtfully. “I like to learn but I feel the same. That’s why I’m looking forward to college next year.”

  “You’re a senior?”

  “Yeah. How about you?” he asked, as the reflection of the festoon lights strung on the parapet danced across his gentle brown eyes.

  “I’m a junior.”

  “You look older,” he commented.

  Blake grinned, assuming it was a compliment. “Do you know where you’re going to go?”

  “Hmm?”

  “For college,” Blake clarified. “Do you have applications out and stuff?”

  “Oh,” he laughed at his obtuseness, “sorry I’m buzzing. I do. I’m waiting to hear back from a few schools, especially UK.”

  “Nice.” Blake couldn’t help but be attracted to his ambition and his arms. He could see the outline of his muscles under the thin grey Henley he was wearing. “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks,” he paused as if he was waiting for Blake to fill in his name.

  “Blake.”

  “Thanks, Blake,” he said. “I’m Rider.”

  “Rider,” Blake repeated, liking the way the name sounded on his tongue. He wanted Rider on his tongue.

  “That’s me,” Rider smirked.

  The fleeting moment of flirtation was all Blake needed. Confidently, he extended his left leg, nudging Rider’s foot with his own.

  Rider bit his lower lip. An invitation. Blake wanted him, wanted to get lost in the moment, to sink into someone else, escape himself.

  “C’mon,” Blake said, dropping his cigarette so he could stomp it out. He stood up and gestured for Rider to follow him down the stairs, his heart pounding as he did.

  Blake led the older boy to the edge of the corn fields, placing a hand on Rider’s narrow waist as he leaned in for a kiss. Rider reacted how Blake hoped he would, parting his lips to slide his tongue along the inside of Blake’s cheek. Tumbling into the tangle, Blake worked his tongue around Rider’s, slow, seductive circles. He grunted when Rider slid his hands in Blake’s back pockets and pulled him in closer.

  As the kiss intensified, Blake slid one hand up Rider’s shirt to feel the definition of his abs, while the other dropped to the bulge in Rider’s jeans. Wrapping his hand around Rider, Blake began to stroke him on top of his pants, moaning softly at the sounds of Rider’s groans.

  “I don’t do shit with guys,” Rider whispered breathlessly as Blake sucked on his neck.
/>
  Blake peeled his lips off Rider’s smooth skin. “Does your dick know that?” he asked, continuing to work him. “It seems like it has other ideas.”

  “What I want and what I need are two different things,” Rider said, placing his palm on Blake’s cheek in a way that felt like goodbye. “Fuck, you’re cute.”

  “And you’re confused,” Blake replied. “Who needs anything at eighteen? It’s all about wants. When are we ever going to be led by our wants again?”

  Rider sighed, slotting their mouths together for another kiss. “Okay, okay, okay,” he chanted, backing away. He rubbed his forehead as he punched out a stuttering exhale. “I’m fucked up.”

  “On drugs or repression?”

  “Both, probably,” Rider admitted.

  The last thing Blake was interested in was dealing with a guy with a guilt problem, no matter how hot he was.

  Rider’s reluctance was obvious as he pulled away. “I should go.”

  “Okay,” Blake said, noticing the pang of disappointment in Rider’s eyes. Maybe he wanted Blake to fight for him, at least for the night, but he didn’t have the energy. Everything shouldn’t need to be a struggle. “You’re missing out, you know,” Blake called after Rider as he made his way back to the house.

  “Believe me, I know,” Rider assured Blake as he checked him out.

  “Not on me,” he amended. “Well maybe on me, but on life. You’re missing out on life, pretending to be someone you’re not.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t what?”

  “Pretend to be something you’re not.”