“I wish I were partying, because that would mean I was getting laid, too.” I shook my head. He was right. I was dead tired. “It’s my roommate. He’s decided I’m an asshole because I’m getting a better grade in biology seminar and maybe because I didn’t notice he was lusting after me.”
A couple of the guys in the boat snorted. They’d already learned that if I couldn’t row it, it didn’t matter. “Dude, seriously?”
I shrugged. “That’s what he told me when he was yelling at me.”
“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” Robbie looked upset. He took relationships seriously.
“You’ve met him.” I sat down on the ground and started stretching. If this was to be an inquest, I might as well put the time to good use.
Robbie looked at the other guys. “What d’you think, boys?”
At some unseen signal, a bunch of them nodded. Kev, the stroke in my JV boat, frowned. “I’ll round ’em up. When were you thinking?”
“Tomorrow” was Robbie’s curt reply. “There’s no point in letting this get out of hand, and Jeremy needs his rest.”
Kev—Kevin—looked down at me. “I’d say it’s already out of hand. Next time something’s wrong, Jeremy, speak up. We’re a team, on and off the water.”
“Do I want to know what’s going on?” I looked up from a deep hamstring stretch.
Kev grinned. “You’ll find out, but your reaction will be more genuine if we don’t tell you.”
Then suddenly Robbie loomed over me. “This roommate—what’s his name?”
“Brady.”
“So this Brady or whatever it is, he knows you’ve got someone.” Robbie looked like a thunderstorm. It was a statement, one last verification by the headsman before the axe fell.
I stood up. “He does. Michael’s been to my room many times. In fact, that’s part of my roomie’s current MO. He and his friends try to make us as uncomfortable as possible. When we study, they make noise. When we’re together—and no, not like you think—they do what they can to drive him out. Michael seems like a strong guy, but he’s younger than I am, and while he doesn’t let on, he’s still a little intimidated.”
“Didn’t you say this guy was gay?” Kev looked perplexed, and I couldn’t blame him. It didn’t make much sense to me, either.
“No, I said I failed to notice he wanted me, but I guess it was implied.” I yawned. “I like to think I’m somewhat good-looking, but I’m not delusional. I won’t be coaxing straight boys down out of the trees any time soon.”
Kev snorted. “You’re funny.”
“Looks aren’t everything. I don’t think Brady’s happy here, but at this point the number of fucks I give will fit on the head of a pin. If he tries to come between me and Michael, I will break out a level of crazy that will make his worst nightmares seem like his happy place.”
My teammates on the JV squad stopped talking to stare at me.
“Dude,” Kev said, “that was out loud.”
I shrugged.
“Damn,” the JV bow seat, Colton, whispered. “I want someone to feel that way about me.”
“Try treating your girlfriend that way and see what happens,” DeShawn, our two seat, said with a certain amount of disgust.
Robbie nodded, his mind made up. “Understood. I won’t tell you when to expect us, but I’ll need a copy of your room key.”
Because nobody expects the oarsmen’s inquisition? He was straight as an arrow, but the biggest drama queen I’d ever met. Apparently we weren’t just a team; we were a gang. I was cool with that.
Fortunately my ride had waited for me. When the team captain lowered the boom, we lesser mortals waited. Or something. I was tired and hungry at that moment, and never mind the taper. At least we were done with twice-daily practices, so I might have a chance to catch up on some sleep before we left for Boston.
I’d rowed plenty of head races in my time with Capital City Rowing Club, but there were head races and then there was the Head of the Charles. Or so I’d been told. I’d never actually rowed it. Originally rowed on the head waters of rivers, all “head race” meant was that it was a longer race than a sprint, five kilometers instead of one or two, an endurance piece instead of an all-out race like the Crew Classic in San Diego. Head races were more forgiving, more psychological. In a sprint, if you missed a stroke, you might lose the race, but a head race? Not a problem. You had five thousand meters to make it up while you picked off the competition, one glorious stroke at a time. I loved head races.
I was one of the younger members of the JV squad. Walk-on JV rowers weren’t unheard of at CalPac, but we weren’t common, either. I was nervous, but then, so were my boatmates. I had one advantage over them, however: my rowing headspace. It might take a fair amount effort to get my attention for anything unrelated to rowing for a while, but they’d adapt. I wondered if Lodestone had warned my new coach. They’d find out in Boston.
The next morning my shock lasted only for seconds when the entire junior varsity squad let itself into my room and scared the crap out of Brady.
“What the fucking hell are you doing to Jeremy!” Robbie screamed through an old-school conical megaphone. That Robbie stood inches from Brady made it all the louder. “He’s got the biggest race of the season in less than a week!”
“Gaaah!” shrieked the no-longer-sleeping Brady.
But Kev had somehow gotten his hands on a powered megaphone. And had it cranked all the way up. “The next time you try to intimidate Jeremy with your pathetic little friends, we’ll bring in the novices. They’re not housebroken, they don’t smell very good, and their manners suck. I don’t like novices. They make me angry. You make me angry when one of the rowers in the engine room of my boat is too tired to perform well because of your antics. You don’t want to make me angry.”
Robbie looked dyspeptic. “And knock off the bullshit where Jeremy’s boyfriend’s concerned. That makes me cranky. It makes me cranky when Kev has a problem because someone’s upset one of his rowers. You’ve made me cranky twice. Do you want to find out what happens when you make me cranky for the third time?”
All Brady could do was stare in shock.
“Kev, he’s not answering me.” Robbie lowered his old-school megaphone for a moment.
“Maybe he can’t hear you,” said Kev through his purloined powered megaphone. If God spoke to mortals, he would sound like Kev and that powered megaphone. I would’ve enjoyed this if it weren’t making me deaf.
“I—” Brady squeaked.
Robbie glared. “Speak up, asshole. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Brady’s eyes were as wide as saucers. I had always thought that was just an expression.
“If you can’t speak, then listen. I don’t care if you’re in a frat, I don’t care if you play some other sport.” Robbie leaned on Brady’s bed so they were eye to eye. “Rowing is huge at CalPac, and there will always be more of us. Next time you have an issue with your roommate, try dealing with it like a grown-up. This isn’t High School Part II: the Ashtray Years.”
“And this is grown-up?” Brady said, finding his voice at last.
Kev laughed. “This is having a team at your back, and Jeremy knew nothing about this.”
“But… Bratty?” Robbie said.
“It’s Brady.”
Robbie shrugged. “Whatever. Knock this shit off, especially intimidating his boyfriend. They’re not doing anything gooey. Your hot roommate came preinstalled with the boyfriend functionality module. Deal with it.”
BRADY’S DOMESTICATION made life more bearable, but even though Michael felt less intimidated in my room, we didn’t spend much more time together, Michael and I, those last few days before the Head of the Charles. The CalPac contingent left for Boston in two days, and I had already moved into my regatta headspace.
Michael kissed my forehead before he said good-bye to me. “I hope you have a safe trip, and you know I’ll be glued to my computer watching the races in real time, but I’ve
seen you in your headspace. There’s not a lot of room for much else.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I’m sorry. Thanks for being so understanding.”
Michael pulled me close. “It’s who you are, Rem. It’s part of what makes you so effective in a boat. Has the rest of your crew figured it out yet?”
“They’re starting to. Lodestone knows what to expect, of course, and I think Coach Ridgewood has figured it out, but the guys? They’re clueless.”
“Wait until they see you walking the race course.” He laughed.
“Or see me going over the course map with the cox’n. Have you seen the course? It looks like a snake that’s been through a laundry mangle.” I shook my head. “This will be a tough one.”
Michael kissed me again. “I have every confidence in you. Text me when you land, okay?”
“Absolutely.”
What I hadn’t told Michael, or anyone else, was that as long as I would be in Boston, I planned to arrive a day early and take a tour of Boston University and talk to the admissions office about transfer requirements. As I had more or less decided on biology as a major, it made sense to look at the offerings in the various biology programs. Lastly, and I shouldn’t say most importantly but let’s be honest, I wanted to talk to the men’s crew coaches, even knowing how busy they would be right before Head of the Charles.
Obviously my parents knew about the trip. They agreed that it made good sense to check out the school as long as I would be in Boston. In fact, they applauded my thrift at combining the two trips and viewed my insistence on handling this myself as a sign of growing independence and maturity. A shrink for a parent—gotta love it.
Yet for some reason, they called me home for dinner the night before I left. The same people who had told me flat-out that I couldn’t come home to do laundry, and that returning to the nest because I was homesick would not be allowed, now demanded my presence for dinner. Suspicious much, Remy?
“Since I’m coming back to Davis for dinner, is it all right if I invite Michael?” I asked when Mom called to set up the command performance.
“No, that wouldn’t be a good idea at all,” Mom said. “We’ll keep it in the family.”
I think in this culture we’re educated to ignore our gut feelings, the little voices at the back of our minds that tell us to watch out, that tell us not to go into that dark room after we hear a creak, calling, “Hello? Who’s there?” The gut instinct that screams, “Don’t go down into that basement, you fool!” Sure, if we listened to those, there’d be no teen horror movie genre, but the world could live without it. If I’d listened to mine, I’d have invented a midterm or something. Instead I walked into a trap. Parents as ambush predators. Who knew?
Sure, it started out fine, food and banal conversation, the little catch-up things you endure when you haven’t seen each other for a while. Most of it revolved around my brother. Of course, Goff and I spoke or e-mailed each other daily, frequently both and usually more than once, and that didn’t include texting. If I couldn’t reach him, I’d talk to Laurel. I knew more about their lives in San Diego than our parents did, that was for sure. I’d already flown down to visit him once.
Oh, and Goff’s roommate? Gay as a daisy.
Then my dad glanced at my mom and sighed. “Look, Jeremy, we called you here tonight because we have something serious we need to talk to you about.”
“We think you’re too dependent on Michael and that maybe you should see less of him now that you’re in college,” Mom said.
That rocked me back in my chair. “Wow. What a great thing to lay on me right before a major regatta.”
“It needed to be said.” Dad sounded defiant.
“But right now? Thanks, Dad.” I exhaled noisily. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. “Why do you say I’m too dependent on Michael?”
Dad stared at me like I was crazy. “You spend an inappropriate amount of time together, for starters.”
“Define inappropriate.” They may have taken me by surprise, but I intended to rally and push this back. What a bunch of fuckery.
Dad didn’t answer, but Mom said, “We’ve heard from the Castelreighs. They’re worried you’re exerting an undue influence on Michael.”
“Okay, so if you won’t define ‘inappropriate,’ maybe you can tell me how I’m exerting an ‘undue influence’ on Michael, who is—by the way—the aggressor in our relationship.” I had to admit I thoroughly enjoyed Dad’s flinch. If you can’t stand the heat, don’t give your gay son a chance to bring up his sex life, old man.
“He spends the night at your dorm,” Dad said.
I sighed. “No, he most certainly does not. He fell asleep there once while I was studying. His parents came to get him at ten thirty, which, by the way, isn’t late for a high school senior. As you should recall, Goff and I stayed up way later than that when we were studying.”
“He’s younger than you are, Jeremy,” Mom said. “Nothing you say can change that.”
I laughed. “When you’re right, Mom, you’re right. Yes, he’s younger than I am. He was last year, too, and no one said anything then.”
Dad looked exasperated, but what did he expect? For me to roll over and take it? They had crappy arguments. “We’re worried about your dependence on him. We know he stood by you when you were so sick, but you don’t owe him fealty.”
“You make every important decision based on what he wants, dear,” Mom said. I squinted at her. She never used endearments like, well, “dear.”
“In fact, he makes those decisions for you.” Then I saw Dad sneak a look at a file card he had hidden under his salad plate. Wow. If this got any more farcical, we’d be in an Oscar Wilde play. The Importance of Having Your Act Together Before Attacking Your Son’s Boyfriend. I could already see the unfortunate Mr. Wilde crumpling this draft up and throwing it in the circular file.
“He does not! Seriously, can you even hear yourselves? I’m too dependent on Michael, yet I apparently exert undue influence while doing dastardly things to him after hours in the dorms. While being his serf. Can you at least get your story straight, as long as you’re using a crib sheet, I mean.” I snorted in derision. “I hate to break it to you, but when I said the aggressor, I really meant the debaucher. Yes, Mom and Dad, that’s right, I’m a total bottom, and I get off on pain. So if any debauching is being done, Michael’s doing it, and you know what? Talking about it gets me hard enough to scratch granite.”
Dad cringed. Okay, that wasn’t suave, but I couldn’t have cared less. “Jeremy, you chose your classes based on when he was available.”
“And so do a lot of other people at CalPac! What’s wrong with taking care of my responsibilities when Michael’s in school? And have you asked for a side-by-side comparison of Geoff and Laurel’s schedules? Because let me tell you, they did the same thing. So I’m left asking myself, why am I being treated differently? I’d have thought you’d have ridden the poz pony to death, but maybe not. Am I still being treated like my judgment’s no good because of the summer I turned seventeen? Or is it because I’m gay? I’ll leave you to think about that, and in the meantime, this conversation is done.”
I pushed back from the table. Someone was upgrading his service cabin on the way to Boston tomorrow, that’s all I had to say about this meal. I recalled that when they forced me to go to CalPac rather than any of the schools I’d wanted to, I promised to make them pay. Looked like I’d be making good on that threat. I called the airline as I drove back to campus.
Chapter 05
I ENJOYED the flight to Boston. It was a real novelty to have enough leg and shoulder room. I wore my wind shell, the waist-length, more or less waterproof anorak in team colors that would identify me faster than anything as someone in town for the Head of the Charles. Someone in the first class cabin commented on it, as did one of the cabin attendants. But when I deplaned in Boston? Whoa. Adrift in a sea of rowers, or so it seemed. I read somewhere that the Boston area had the greatest co
ncentration of colleges and universities of any place in the country, if not the world, and that Wednesday before the Head of the Charles, Boston looked as if every single one of those schools had fielded teams for the regatta. It was awesome.
But BU itself—I didn’t know what to say. I’d fixated on it sight unseen—the school itself and the crew. The school looked amazing, and so did the biology programs. I knew my grades would pass muster. While there were some programs I would be ineligible for as a transfer student, BU still offered plenty of options. I sighed a little at that. Biology and medical education as a major sounded great, because somewhere along the line I’d gotten the notion of going to nursing school in my head and couldn’t shake it loose. I could still go to nursing school, obviously, but a combined degree program like that sounded amazingly cool. I tried to put it in perspective. Yesterday I had known nothing about such a program, and I’d been perfectly happy to study biology or some permutation thereof, so I needed to chill because I suddenly found out about something I couldn’t have. If I told my therapist that, maybe she’d pat me on the head.
As I wandered over to the race venue after the tour of the school, kicking at fallen leaves and trying to enjoy the brilliant show of color I’d never see in California, I tried to face the fact that something didn’t feel right about… what? I couldn’t quite put my finger on it yet. I hadn’t seen much of the city, but there was a vibe to it, an energy, the likes of which Sacramento would never have. Said vibe could be good or bad. I’d have to learn to live with snow, and that prospect failed to thrill me. I had yet to speak to the rowing coaches, maybe that was it.
I walked along Massachusetts Avenue—or Mass Ave, as I’d already learned to call it—and tried to see myself here. I couldn’t. I tried not to think about what that meant for the Plan Michael and I had hatched, him in Providence or New Haven, me here. Good luck with that, Rem, I thought. This was only your future with your boyfriend far from disapproving parents.
All That Is Solid Melts Into Air Page 4