“He’s a little what? What, you mean…weird?” I snorted.
“Well yeah, kind of,” Toby said. “Now that you mention it.”
“How is he weird?” I asked, a little too defensively. Chill out, Jack.
“I mean, think about it, Jack,” Max said. “He’s secretive. He’s always doing his own stuff, always kind of in the background until something crazy goes down. He got into it with the Rudoy brothers at the assembly. I mean, who’s dumb enough to do that? There’s just something odd about that guy.”
Toby leaned in close to me again, giving my shoulder a pat. Something in his big brown eyes flashed a warning before softening again. “We’re just looking out for you.”
Even I had to laugh at that. “You guys are such assholes.”
But Toby was serious. “Just think about it, Jack.”
“Listen, I’d love to stay and discuss this thrilling topic of kind-ofs and maybes…but I got to head out. Alright?”
We said goodbye, and I unlocked my bike and rode the hell out of there, tasting relief in the air. But once I’d pedaled far enough down the road, a thought popped into my head.
What if they knew?
No, they couldn’t. How could they know? They were just jealous, jealous and pissed I wasn’t spending so much time with them anymore. But those thoughts didn’t calm my mounting anxiety as I rode down familiar streets, letting the spring breeze fill me up with smells of freshly cut grass and blossoming trees, trying to calm my nerves. I took some deep breaths, pushed it all to the back of my mind and finally parked in front of Connor’s place.
Lately it was the only place that I felt safe. I wondered how long that would last.
29.
I knew it was a bad idea right when Toby spotted them.
It was the next day at school. Max and Toby had dropped the Connor thing, for now at least, and decided to let him eat with us at lunch. The courtyard smelled sweet from the budding eucalyptus trees. We were sitting there, the four of us, just hanging out and eating sandwiches, sunglasses on, when Lizzie and Jess strolled by in their tight high-waisted shorts, Lizzie in dip-dye orange and Jess a matching dip-dye pink.
Jess looked stunning. Her long, blonde hair was pinned back, revealing a face full of make-up, expertly done. She was like a girl out of a magazine, red lips and Betty Boop eyelashes. I tried to smile at her, but she just pressed her painted lips together and nodded once.
Toby, of course, couldn’t resist.
“Hello ladies!” he whistled, waving them over. He lifted his shades and Lizzie lifted hers in greeting, giving him a toothy grin. “What’s up?”
Jess trailed behind, one hand awkwardly gripping her arm. I could tell she really didn’t want to be here, and it hurt a little. They sat down in the grass beside us.
“Smoke?” Max asked, taking out a cig for Lizzie.
I opened my mouth to say something about potentially getting caught, but decided against it. Toby had already started smoking, his gaze trailing over the curve of Jess’s thighs as she sat with her legs folded on top of each other, letting Toby light her up.
“It’s so nice out!” Lizzie said, tossing back her super curly hair. She had new extensions in every other week. This time they were the color of cherry cough syrup.
“Very nice,” Toby agreed, putting his sunglasses back on to hide his sleazy gaze.
We sat there for a little while, chatting about mostly nothing. I’d been tuning out for a while, trying not to look at Jess while she tried not to look at me, nodding along to whatever someone said, watching people pass by us. My heart was thumping so hard that I started to sweat. I wanted to reach out to her, talk to her again, at least let her hear me out. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry was all I could think.
Then I heard Connor break his usually observatory silence. He always did that, waited and watched for a while until he caught a moment to say something good, something that would catch you off guard.
“No, you do not want to live in the fifties, Liz.”
“Why not?” Lizzie asked. “I think it would be awesome. Back then, girls didn’t have to work; we could just hang out and smoke and go to the beach. We didn’t have to go to college and everything. Like I know, obviously we’re supposed to think that’s important now, but I don’t see what’s so wrong about wanting to live an easy life. No bills to worry about, no pressure to be some huge success.”
“You romanticize that shit,” Connor countered. “You think you want to go back and live then, but trust me, you really don’t.”
Lizzie frowned, the freckles on her nose forming a crinkly pool. She looked over to Jess for support.
Jess just shrugged. “I think the old dresses are pretty.”
“Yeah, like vintage,” Lizzie gushed.
Connor rolled his neck around and leaned forward, ready to lay in on them, but Toby cut in before he could speak.
“Actually, I think I’d like to live in the fifties too,” he said.
“Really?” asked Lizzie.
“Really?” Jess asked, her voice thick with disbelief.
“Really,” he said. “Think about it. Muscle cars, open roads, pin-up girls. That shit was great. Who doesn’t love all that?”
Lizzie nodded. “Things were less complicated back then, I feel.”
“You’re both way off,” Connor said, though he had a way of saying things so smoothly that it never sounded like an insult. “It wasn’t a good time at all.”
“How do you know?” Lizzie teased, blowing a ring of smoke at his face. “For all you know, it was way better than now.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, and I could feel Connor bristle beside me. We all watched and waited for him to speak.
“You know, Lizzie, you say that, but you’re a woman, and women had almost no rights back then. They were getting beaten by their asshole husbands who were traumatized from the war. That was just on the cusp of the civil rights movement, when black people would get lynched and people like me were considered illegals even when they fought along white men in the trenches in their white man’s war. McCarthyism, race riots, police brutality. Are you kidding me? You have this candy-coated ideal of how the world was but do you know the first thing about the Los Angeles riots, which by the way, didn’t happen all that far from here? Segregation in the military?”
Damn, he was so smart. How did he know all of this stuff? I was about to ask more questions, but Toby laughed darkly, cutting me off. “Oh Connor, our history buff.” He patted him on the back. “This kid’s a riot.”
“I’m not joking,” Connor said.
Toby shrugged. “Whatever man, things suck now too. And if you ask me, a lot of those Mexicans deserve to be deported, stealing our jobs and shit. I mean, talk about bad times, our town getting clogged up with all kinds of illegals from south of the border, fucking crackheads and wife beaters too. No offense to you, man.”
I winced. Connor held Toby’s gaze for just a moment, his voice thick with venom as he said: “I’m not fucking Mexican, Toby.”
Toby’s expression grew cold for a moment, and then he feigned a laugh and said, “Whatever, dude.”
Then there was silence, a slow one that crept up on all of us, heavy and sinister.
Jess shivered. “I’m getting cold, are you, Liz?”
Lizzie, who’d been staring slack-jawed at this exchange, her cigarette ashy between her fingers, just nodded.
“Close your mouth,” Jess hissed at Lizzie under her breath. Her eyes met mine in what felt like a moment of understanding, but then it was all over and the girls got up, brushed the grass off their candy-colored shorts and left.
“Jesus,” Max mused, chuckling to himself. “That was intense, Connor.”
“Shut up, Max,” I said.
They all turned to stare at me. It felt like an eternity before I blinked and snapped back to life, playing it off like I was joking and slapped Max on the back. “Just kidding, man.”
But I could feel Toby’s
cold gaze creeping onto me, a slow smirk forming at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, you were just kidding, Jack. Always just kidding. Such a fucking kidder, my man, Jack!”
“The fuck is wrong with you, Toby?” Max asked, laughing nervously.
Connor mumbled something under his breath.
“What’d you just say?” Toby snapped.
Connor slid his shades up his nose. “Nothing that concerns you,” he said with a sarcastic grin, and then nodded at me. “You coming, Jack?”
I hesitated, looking between Max and Toby and Connor. Toby was staring straight at Connor now, getting that scary look again, and Max just looked confused.
“Yeah, I’m coming. See you guys later.”
“Later, dude!” Max called.
As I was walking away I thought I could just faintly hear Toby murmur, “Fucking faggot.”
30.
Dr. Phil was on, and Mom was watching intently. She had her feet up on the coffee table, still wearing her ratty bathrobe even though it was nearly noon. But something was weird; I smelled the familiar scent of pot.
“Goddamn, where do they find these people?” she said. She flicked some ashes onto the rug. “Morons of the highest order, babe. Of course, this quack knows exactly what to say to them, anyone with half a brain could fix their issues.” She took a long drag.
“Mom?” I asked cautiously, walking over to her. I put my hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. “Are you smoking weed, Mom?”
She took a long hit on what I could now see was a joint. “Hope you don’t mind. Found it in your room while I was cleaning a bit. Don’t tell your father.” She winked and inhaled again, the thick smoke curling into the air.
I pulled my hands off her shoulders like they’d shocked me. “Mom. Please don’t go through my stuff.”
The circles under her eyes were deep and dark, as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. “Now Jack, it’s my duty as a mother to make sure you’re not getting into any nasty business, like drugs or weapons or sex.” She laughed dryly and then started to cough. “God forbid,” she went on in between hacking chest coughs. “I don’t want my beautiful son to end up anything but boring.”
“Didn’t you have a job interview this morning?” My eyes were fixated by the people on the screen with their sad, crumpled faces as a bald fat man drawled his pop psychology at them in his bumble-fuck accent.
“I needed a mental health day,” she said, flicking the joint again. It irked me.
The audience of dumpy middle-aged people cooed and cheered for their Texan messiah. I realized I was grinding my teeth.
I walked over and turned the TV off, grabbing the joint from her and putting it out in the clay shark ashtray I’d made for her. Gunther lifted his head up from his spot by the window, making an anxious groaning noise.
“Mom. It’s almost afternoon and you’re still sitting around in your robe watching trash TV and smoking my weed, for fuck’s sake. The house is a mess, the dog needs a walk, the bills are still sitting on the fucking foyer, not getting paid. What the hell are you doing?”
Her smirk had twisted into a cold scowl. “Who do you think you are, your father?”
“Someone around here has to be an adult,” I said. “Come on, Gunther.”
But before I could reach my dog, she stood and blocked my path. She was so small, about a foot shorter than me, but she stared up at me and lowered her tone. “You don’t get to talk to me like that, I’m your mother!” It was then I saw that her face was about to fall from the weight of her tears and pain, and in a second she had collapsed into my arms and was pulling me close, the smell of cheap weed and bad perfume overwhelming.
“Oh, Jack,” she murmured. I let her hot tears soak my t-shirt as I lightly patted her back in an attempt at comfort, until I had to pull away. I stomped out of the house with Gunther in tow, clipping on his leash without giving her a second look while she sniffled and sobbed pathetically into her hands.
Walking outside into the fresh air, I took a deep breath. Old Gunther walked patiently by my side, tail wagging every now and then, never pulling ahead or dragging behind me even if he spotted a squirrel or another dog. Despite his arthritis, he kept up with me down the sidewalk of our bleak street, with its potholes and small, unkempt houses.
Me and Gunther, my guy, who I’d raised myself, the only reliable member of my family.
31.
“Will it hurt?” I asked.
The burly man crouched down to my level and gently touched my bottom lip with his latex finger. “Only a pinch. Just take a deep breath and relax when I clamp you.”
“It’s gonna look sick,” Connor whispered in my ear. He kissed my cheek. We stared at our reflection in the mirror of the piercing parlor, his head resting on my shoulder, eyes wide with excitement next to my uneasy stare.
“I’m such a pussy,” I touched the spot on my lip about to be severed, as if wishing it luck in its final intact moments.
“Nah, you’re just a little dramatic,” Connor said. “Now this one, see?” He pushed aside a clump of hair to reveal a rook piercing in his ear. “This one hurt like a bitch. Got infected and everything.”
“Oh thanks, that really makes me feel better.”
“You sure you want to go through with this?” the piercing guy asked with mock melodrama, patting my shoulder.
“Yeah, just fucking do it.”
“Alright, kid, open up.”
He put the cold clamp down on my bottom lip and took out the big needle. “Deep breaths, all the way in, all the way out.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Just relax.” I felt the needle go through with a tight pinch and Connor started cheering like I’d scored a touchdown.
“Yes! You did it, Jack!”
“Ow,” I said as the guy put in the ring.
“Just remember to use the cleaning stuff I gave you so it so it doesn’t get infected,” he said. After we paid him, he squinted hard at me and mumbled, “I’ll be damned if you’re a day over sixteen.” He shook his head and walked into the backroom, thumbing his fat cash tip from Connor.
Connor took my hand, and we went outside into the bright sunlight, taking in the smell of greasy fast food cooking next door. “So, what are you gonna tell your Dad?”
“That a rattlesnake bit me and this was the only way to stop the bleeding.”
“Nice. I just got a text from Jason Xiang—you know him, right?—about this party. His parents are out of town for the weekend. He lives on Cypress Road, across the street from the pawn shop. You want to head over there?”
Jason Xiang? Was he in our grade? How did Connor know all these people? “Nah, not really.”
“He’s got four ounces of weed,” he said, reading his phone. “And an eight ball.”
“Yeah, I guess we could stop by.”
“It would be rude to refuse,” Connor agreed, smiling at me. I kissed him with my swollen lip.
A car horn honked. I glanced up to see a beat-up Ford slowly driving past us, an old woman in the driver’s seat shaking her head and scowling in our direction.
Connor flipped her off and he pulled my face close to his, kissing me hard and heavy with tongue. She honked angrily, her shouts trailing behind her as her tires screeched against the concrete.
Connor just laughed with his head back. His arm had felt so good around my waist just moments earlier, and I’d felt so free, but now I pulled away. It was like that easy warmth between us had evaporated.
“Come on, Jack,” he murmured, pulling me closer to him, but I shrugged him off.
“Not now.”
“Jack,” he said. “Are we gonna do this forever?”
“Please,” I said. “Just not now.”
We walked to the bus stop in silence.
It was always strange going out into public spaces, a sphere where we couldn’t touch or smile at each other like we did when we were alone. Not without causing a nasty response. For a while it had been our unspoken agreement that everything between us onl
y existed when we were back in the safety our bubble, away from anyone who might suspect us.
But lately he’d been getting increasingly annoyed with it. He’d been touching me out in public, acting bolder, more insistent that we just come out to everyone and let it be what it was.
“It’s not a big deal, Jack,” he’d said. “I know it’s scary, but once you’re honest with everyone and yourself, it’s so freeing. We don’t have to keep playing this game.”
But I would picture Riley, left naked and bruised and alone in that hallway. I saw him behind my eyelids whenever I tuned out in class, when I turned a sharp corner in the hallway, when I dreamed at night. His long face and crooked smile would find their way into my brain even in my most peaceful moments alone with Connor, reminding me, warning me. It had only been a month since he’d been beaten up, but for some reason, it felt strange to talk about, even with Connor.
I felt it on the bus that day, in the way Connor stared out the window and barely spoke to me, that it was bugging him too. I wish I could tell him about the dreams I’d been having, the ones where a million hands were clutching my throat and choking me to death, or how the thought of someone seeing us together made my chest turn icy cold, like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs. But it felt like speaking about it would only make it more real.
When we arrived at Jason’s, a red brick row house with a crumbling roof and creaky porch, a steady bass was pulsing through the walls. I rapped hard on the door and rang the bell three times, hearing yelling and excited screams inside.
The door opened and my mouth fell open.
“Jess?”
I barely recognized her. In the place of my best friend was a nineties grunge model. Her hair was messy and matted, pulled back into a bun on top of her head, dark roots bleeding through. Her lashes were thick with mascara, and her lips were painted bright red. She easily looked five years older, but tired under all the makeup. She stood there staring at me in mutual surprise, wearing ripped-up tights and a skintight black dress that hugged her thighs. Her automatic, friendly smile quickly fell into a grimace.
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