Draw the Line

by Laurent Linn

  And maybe go after Lev. “Buddy’s such a damn . . . asshole.”

  Trent lifts his iced tea in the air. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Really? Eeew.”

  Audrey saunters over with her tray. I glance across the cafeteria at Manuel, who’s watching her.

  “Whoa,” I say. “Talk about sultry. That the dress you bought last night?”

  She shoots me a what-are-you-crazy? look. “This thing?” She slides her tray onto the table. “First, no way I’m wearin’ that evening dress I bought last night to school. Second, you’ve seen this outfit before, nothing special.”

  Trent leans way to the side and looks at her. “You grew.”

  She rolls her eyes and sits. “They’re called high heels. Not a new invention.”

  A slow smile crosses his face. “Methinks this ensemble may be because of a certain wrestler dude?”

  She clicks her tongue. “Oh, come on.”

  I put my hands on the table. “So what happened in class yesterday with Manuel?” Over at his table, he’s talking with his friends now and not looking at us.

  She shrugs and nibbles on a French fry. “He’s a jerk.”

  “Why?” I say. “What happened?”

  “He was overly ignoring me, then babbling at me, then ignoring me again. If he’s gonna talk to me, he should just talk to me. Guys are such wackos.”

  Trent blows the hair from his eyes. “He’s probably just scared of you.”

  She props her hands on her hips. “Now, why the hell would he be scared of me?”

  Trent and I bust out laughing.

  She stifles a smile, checks over her shoulder toward Manuel, sees he’s not watching us, then changes the subject to this wedding she’s going to. We get to hear all about family gossip and which side of the family isn’t talking to the other side until the bell rings and we get to class.

  Before sixth period I catch Lev again at his locker. “Any problems with Buddy?”

  He shakes his head. “Passed him once, but he didn’t notice me.” Lev shoves some books in his backpack. “I see you didn’t take anything off your website.”

  “Look, at this point everyone’s seen it and knows the truth about what happened with Kobe. Kobe himself even told me he likes what I—”

  “So if everyone’s seen it, then why not just delete it?”

  I lower my voice. “First you tell me I’m a hero for standing up to Doug and Buddy, and now you’re pissed about it. I don’t know what else to do.”

  He looks down at the floor, then at me again. “Okay. But now that everyone’s seen what you already drew, it’s not like you’re backing down if you delete it from your site. It’s just moving on to new—”

  “Graphite’s story is my story, and I have every right to tell it like I—”

  “But it’s not just your story! It’s mine, too. And everyone you decide to put in it for the world to see, whether you change our names or not. Just because your friends are okay with it doesn’t mean everyone is. Doesn’t mean I am.” He slams his locker shut. “Have you even asked me how I feel about it? About strangers seeing what you think of me or what we do together?”

  Oh, man.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right.” My face burns hot. “That’s . . . It’s not fair to you. I’ll take down the art of Oasis. Maybe I should take the whole thing down.”

  He leans against his locker, closes his eyes, and exhales. “No, don’t do that. You don’t even have to change what you did of me, I guess. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “No, I will. I should’ve realized . . .”

  He nods. “I gotta go.” And he does.

  Damn.

  I shuffle to class and get there after the bell. I apologize to the teacher.

  It’s starting to be an afternoon of apologies.

  Do Audrey and Trent hate their characters too, but are just being nice about it? I’ve never asked anybody if they minded that I open up their personal lives for all to see. I’d be pissed too.

  How did I not see this before? And now I’m putting everyone in danger.

  That’s it, I’m taking down the whole damn site. And screw this stupid costume idea. Bet Lev wouldn’t even want me to go to his dance at all now.

  When I get home, Mom’s not there yet. As soon as she gets back from work, I’ll just say never mind; no need to go shopping after all. She can have the night to do whatever she wants.

  I shut my bedroom door and throw my backpack on the floor. Sitting in front of my computer, I pull up my freakin’ site and stare at the screen.

  People left more comments. Might as well read them before I pull the plug.

  There’s a lot of the same hate crap but more amazing ones, too, liking my art, liking my stories.

  Dammit, what do I do?

  I rest my head on my arms. Maybe what I’ve posted is important. Kobe said it is, and the most personal part is about him. He doesn’t mind.

  I sit up, take a deep breath.

  Okay, think about this. I look through it page by page, art panel by art panel. I take down all of Oasis first. All the scenes of him and Graphite swirling through the air, joyous.

  I leave all the scenes of just Graphite. I sure don’t mind they’re here. Obviously.

  Guess I’ll leave the Sultry and Willow scenes for now.

  Then I go through all the Thug scenes, and freakin’ Bootlicker, pull them down, one by one. Except for the beating section, with Kerosene. That stays.

  As I take down the Thug scenes, I read the comments on each, one last time. I guess I’m getting desensitized to reading anonymous threats and hate, since reading the bad stuff only makes me feel numb right now.

  I get to the last Thug scene I posted, when Graphite discovers Thug’s Innermost Secret. There’s a new comment.

  Wait a minute.

  BigGreenBro: i like how you drew thug’s secret human face. makes him a better character than just some stupid villain like you did before. how are you going to draw him next? maybe show more of what he’s like as a human. that would be good. he’s probably not as dumb as a brick wall with a missing brick where you throw the trash.

  Holy crap. I stand and pace my room. What’s Doug trying to tell me? I reread his comment. Does this mean he likes being in my comic? Can’t be. That would be too bizarre. Right?

  And why the weird, horribly written sentence about the brick wall? Maybe he just wants to prove BigGreenBro really is him.

  I sit back down. Okay, not taking down this scene. No.

  I write a reply: Well, BigGreenBro, guess it all depends on what Thug does next. These characters have a life of their own, I don’t control them. I’d like it too, a LOT, if Thug showed Earth more of his human side. That would be fun to draw. What do you think?

  I click the mouse and it’s posted.

  I look up at the Graphite portrait I put on my bulletin board, next to little Jimmy’s unigiraffe.

  Graphite, what would you do?

  I study his intense expression, the energetic swoops of fabric, the bold lines and swirls. He’s no wimp.

  Oh, my god. He’d so go to the Halloween Hoedown, even on his own, and show everyone what a badass he really is.

  “MOM, DON’T BRAKE SO HARD, I might crush my knee armor. I spent all day making these.”

  From the driver’s side, she glances at my legs, lit by the glow of the dashboard. “Well, move your seat back, Adrian. Armor or not, I’m going to keep stopping for red lights.”

  I pull the seat handle and push back, away from the low knee-bumping glove compartment. My seat budges only a few inches. Well, we’re almost to the gym anyway, where I’m about to appear in front of the whole school wearing makeup, dressed in tights, wrapped in flowing fabric, and with giant aluminum foil faces on my knees.

  How come superhero costumes are so uncomfortable in real life—and don’t turn out the way you planned?

  Even though I rushed home from school every day to work on this, I could still use another week. How�
��d it get to be Saturday night so fast?

  The light turns green and Mom accelerates. “Honey, relax. You’re going to have fun, and you look adorable.”

  Great, adorable is hardly what I’m going for here. I was aiming for epic.

  She glances at me. “I wish you had shown us your cartoons before—”

  “Ugh, they’re not cartoons. I create comics. So different.”

  “Okay, I’ll get it right. But whatever they are, it would have been nice to have seen what you’ve been drawing all along. You draw so beautifully.”

  I tug back the seat belt shoulder strap before it crushes my sleeve puff. “It wasn’t ready to be seen. Like I said, I only put my name on my site a few days ago.”

  “Well, you showed that teacher at the, the GLB—oh, I don’t want to say it wrong.”

  “It’s the LGBT center.”

  She sighs. “Yes, that. You showed her before you even told me or your dad about any of it.”

  She turns right and we’re almost there—the school is all lit up and coming toward us.

  My stomach flips.

  I look at her. “So you’ll call Clare tomorrow about me working there, right? You promised.”

  “Yes, I’ll call her tomorrow.” She eyes me. “So many new things I’m learning about my own son!”

  With lots of other cars, we drive around behind the school and turn into the brightly lit parking lot. Above the gym entrance up ahead, strings of little orange lights outline a huge painted sign that says RHH HALLOWEEN HOEDOWN! And in front of the building, fake cobwebs cover the bushes, flashing from what must be at least twenty strobe lights spread out and tucked in the branches.

  “Wow,” she says, “can’t wait to hear what it’s like inside the gym. Oh, look at all those black and orange balloons they tied on the trees.”

  Yeah, and I wonder who spent all week blowing up those balloons instead of being with me?

  Oh, my god, there he is up ahead. Lev’s carrying a ladder and wrestling with a few balloons in the wind. Shouldn’t he be finished decorating by now?

  “Oh, wait, Mom. Drop me off here.”

  “But we’re not even near the door.”

  “Right here by this little building, this is good. I need to adjust my costume before I go in.” And before Lev lays eyes on me.

  She pulls off to the side of the lot and I ease out of the car. Wow, they don’t call these tights for nothing.

  I close the door and, through the rolled-down window, assure her I’m fine and will have a blast, and okay, whatever, take one more picture but make it quick and don’t be obvious. She gets out of the car and, of course, is more than obvious. But, still taming the balloons, Lev doesn’t even look our way.

  I say bye to Mom and, as she drives away, adjust the damn tights. Ooh, that’s better.

  I’m by a little utility shed that smells like fertilizer and engine oil. Stepping into the shadows, I rewrap the fabric around me and attempt to make it look flowing like I draw it on Graphite. But it only droops like a lame blue satin toga.

  What the hell am I thinking, going as Graphite? All I’m gonna do is trip on this thing and smash my nose again.

  And oh, yeah, get mocked mercilessly.

  Halfway between me and the gym, Lev seems to have conquered the balloons, tying them to a lamppost. He’s wearing a long cape but no hat or mask. His costume must be underneath?

  Things have been good with him since I took down the Oasis art. Well, it’s actually hard to say since I’ve barely laid eyes on him. But after tonight, it’ll be time for him to start coming to Adrian Club meetings.

  Past Lev, by the entrance, car headlights illuminate a variety of arriving zombies, sexy witches, and . . . is that supposed to be a samurai or a giant armadillo?

  The boom boom boom of some hip-hop song bounces out the doors each time someone goes in. Obi-Wan, give me strength.

  Wow, a T-shirt, tights, some aluminum foil, and a strip of fabric aren’t so warm. I inhale deep. Okay, Graphite, let’s do this.

  Lev picks up the ladder and carries it to the side yard between the shed and the gym.

  I step out of the shadows and follow behind him into the side yard, dead grass crunching under my black boots. A tall parking lot lamp casts dramatic yellow light on him as he drops the ladder and puts stuff in some plastic bins by the bushes. He must be done decorating at last.

  As I get closer to him, I check behind me in the lot. I wait for a few people to walk past on their way to the gym entrance.

  With his back to me, Lev’s focused on packing up. As soon as those people are gone, I approach him. It’s hard to walk in this costume, though.

  I strike a grand Graphite pose. “Greetings, human!” With the music spilling from the gym, he doesn’t hear me.

  With a twirl of my draped fabric, I’m about to wave my arms. But from the direction of the stadium on the far side of Lev, a guy dressed like a zombie football player is coming from the shadows. Talk about ruining my entrance.

  He weaves as he walks. Looks like the party already started for this guy. He spots Lev and stops. Staring at him, he hollers, “Holy shit! This is too perfect.” He then goes right for Lev, pushes him into the bushes.

  “Hey!” Lev yelps, scrambling to get out of the branches.

  I start to rush over, but damn this draped fabric.

  “Get away!” Lev frees himself.

  Oh, my god. “What are you doing?” I yell. Gathering up the fabric under my arm, I run.

  Laughing, Buddy shoves Lev again, hard.

  Lev slams into the ground on his side.

  I dash over and get between Lev and Buddy. “Get the hell away from him.”

  Buddy gapes at me and cracks up, claps his hands.

  I eye the parking lot, but no one’s walking by. A new song comes blaring from the gym doors around the corner.

  “Oh, man!” Buddy yells. Then he drops the smile and comes for me.

  I run right at him and trip him. He rolls on the ground, then stumbles as he tries to stand. So drunk it takes effort.

  It gives Lev time to get up and steady himself. He holds his side but stands by me.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  He pants but nods.

  I grit my teeth. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

  Movement catches my eye. I glance over where Buddy came from the stadium. Two guys head this way. Both big, but one is obviously Doug.

  “What’s this?” Doug booms as he approaches us.

  Buddy turns to him. “Check it out! Look what’s here in little fairy dresses.”

  With Doug is another football guy, half-assed smears of camouflage paint on his face, wearing army fatigues, an open beer can in his hand.

  Doug’s not in costume. He looks the same as always. But under that cap brim his eyes are glazed.

  Just like they were at Boo.

  He focuses on me, then Lev. “What’s the deal?”

  Lev breathes heavy beside me.

  The other guy blinks at us, sees my costume. He barks out a laugh. “Ha! Oh, shit!”

  Over by the parking lot a few people in costumes walk by, talking, not glancing this way. They keep going.

  I turn to Buddy. “What is your fucking problem?”

  “Screw you, faggot.”

  “I can do math.” The guy in the army costume takes a swig from his beer, then places it on the ground. He points at himself, Doug, and Buddy. “One, two, three of us can whup, let’s see, the one, two of you little assholes.”

  Buddy pops Doug on the arm. “Right?”

  Wavering in a tipsy way, Doug bumps Buddy away from him.

  I look at Lev. “Let’s go in.”

  Buddy steps toward me. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

  “Look, we’re leaving.” I glance at Doug. “Right?”

  Ahhhhh! Buddy slams me to the ground. I land on my back.

  He’s on top of me, digs his knee in my side.

  I grab his wrist.

  Twi
sting and kicking, I push on his slimy face.

  Doug stomps over. “Fuckin’ idiot.” He grabs Buddy, pulls him off me.

  Buddy falls back on his ass. “What the hell?”

  Lev helps me stand. I’m twisted in my costume but brace myself.

  Scrambling up, Buddy screams at Doug. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  The army guy steps to Doug. “Dude, c’mon. Show this fag he can’t screw with you.”

  Three people walk by in the parking lot. They see us. “Adrian?” a girl says.

  No mistaking that voice.

  Audrey and, oh, my god, it’s Trent. And someone else, wrapped like a mummy. They start across the grass toward us, then notice Doug and Buddy and stop.

  I turn back to Doug.

  Buddy spits on the ground and scowls at Doug. “Shit! We had this.”

  The army guy grunts. “Check out all the freaks.”

  “Adrian, you okay?” Audrey says from a few feet away.

  I look over. What are she and Trent doing here? And who is that mummy with them? “Oh, my god, Kobe?”

  In the light from the parking lot, the strips of gauze crossing over his forehead and chin cast shadows, making his bruises and still-swollen face look like a mask. He glares at Doug, eyes on fire.

  Doug tries to focus, squints. Then his eyes go wide. He takes a quick step back like from an electric shock. He turns to the side, looks at the ground, and lets out a long breath.

  Buddy and the other guy take it all in.

  No one says anything.

  I scan all around. Everyone’s watching Doug now.

  I walk right to him. “I like your costume.”

  “You . . . huh?” Doug scrunches his eyebrows. “I ain’t wearin’ no—what costume?”

  I say in a low voice, “Your human side. Looks good.”

  Buddy steps over. “What’s he saying to you?”

  Doug looks from me to Kobe. Then to Buddy. “Let’s move.” He turns to go back toward the stadium.

  “Screw that.” Buddy spits at me.

  I jump back in time.

  Doug spins, grabs Buddy’s arm, and hurls him to the ground. “Fuck you!”

  Buddy scoots back along the grass. “What’s—”

  “Grow the fuck up!” Doug kicks him in the side. “Sick of your shit.”

  The army guy puts up his hand. “Doug, bro, cool it.”