“Mm-hmm.” Brenda straightened up, brushing her hands against her sweater and jeans as she surveyed her handiwork—which didn’t make much of a difference with me because her shop was still cluttered, no matter how she arranged merchandise. “You know what you need, sweetie?”
I almost said “sex,” but I’d already become way too TMI to Mrs. Zhang and Wade, and I didn’t want to subject another female of the species to my needs and the eternal tragedy that was my fate. “Tea and cookies?” I asked. It was safe enough. Besides, it was also a sneaky way of making Brenda serve me with her usual snack tray before “school.”
“Yeah, those, but I’m thinking about a pet.”
I blinked as Brenda draped an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the shop’s counter, where I was about to be stuffed with baked goodies. “A pet?”
“Yeah, why not? I know that school and your new part-time job are keeping you busy, but sometimes you also need something else to occupy yourself with unless you’re a voracious reader.”
I sighed and made a face. “My reading privileges were taken away recently.”
I felt Brenda’s sidelong glance but didn’t meet it. I decided not to elaborate on that any more since it meant telling her about my gay porn anthology fiasco and the tragic ending to that story. I was still in mourning, by the way, but did anyone care about the negative effects that would have on a naturally hormone-driven teenage boy? Nope. I’d read about Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire in protest of something, but that was kind of extreme for me. Maybe shaving all my hair off, wrapping myself in a blanket, and sitting in a corner of the house without talking, eating, or drinking would be a more doable alternative in protesting the unfairness that reeked out of the Plath household.
“As I was saying, taking care of a cat or a dog will be good for you. Especially when, you know, the heroes are up to their ears with work, and you’re left alone. Besides, having a pet teaches you responsibility and…”
At the sound of “responsibility,” my ears snapped shut, and I let Brenda yak away about caring for a living thing while I sighed quietly and tried to imagine all kinds of really kinky scenarios with Peter. And since Brenda mentioned pets, the first thing that came to mind was “fur.” So I decided to include a giant faux fur rug in front of a fireplace and all the things that a couple of horny teenage gay boys could do on that rug.
I’d already seated myself on my assigned bar stool, setting my bag aside, while Brenda went to the back room for our snacks. She continued to talk about pets and being responsible and growing up to be an upright citizen because of those, yadda, yadda, yadda. In the meantime, I’d gotten even way more bored than ever, sighing and drumming my fingers against the counter and growing more and more aware of my raging boner, no thanks to faux fur rugs and never-ending gay sex involving positions that would make Chinese acrobats’ brains melt with envy.
I’d have to admit that while it was fun on the whole, being a boy and totally drowning in hormones, it could also be a bitch when one was constantly deprived of satisfaction. When did a boy’s hormones settle down, anyway? Eighteen or something? I doubted it. I’d heard of guys going to college and turning into testosterone on two legs, and I was sure that had something to do with sudden freedom from living with their parents.
One thing was sure, though—having a family was enough to turn off the faucet, so to speak. It was like having kids meant de-evolving as a human being because there wasn’t any time for sex, and even if there were, raising kids could really suck the vitality out of a couple, and they’d look even more sexually uninviting than ever. I mean, come on—how could one picture his own parents doing the dirty? That’s just wrong.
I didn’t realize that I’d been muttering all these things to myself till Brenda broke through my thoughts, standing at the other side of the counter and eyeing me dubiously. Between us sat a platter of homemade cookies and tea.
“You okay, kiddo?” she asked slowly.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“That must’ve been some train of thought. You should’ve seen the look on your face while you talked to yourself.”
“I’m feeling tragic right now,” I said, helping myself to a cookie. “That was a few minutes of therapy for myself. And be thankful that I didn’t subject you to my grief.”
Brenda nodded slowly. “Ah. I think I see what you mean. Yeah, I’m lucky.” She took a sip of her tea. “So you’re bored, huh?”
“I’m dying.”
She shook her head and chuckled, helping herself to a cookie. “It’s boring from your end, but slow news days are good things for us in the front lines. I’m sure your friends and Peter are all thanking whatever greater power they believe in, if any, for this unexpected breather.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be allowed to take some time off.” I sighed for the quadrillionth time and gnawed on a chocolate chip cookie. “And even if they were, aren’t they genetically predisposed to keep going out in the streets and patrolling the city? If they were actually paid for doing this, they’d be racking up all those overtime hours—especially Magnifiman.”
“Sad but true. Unfortunately life isn’t always fair, and no one but those geneticists are to blame.” Brenda reached across the counter to give my hand a gentle squeeze while flashing me a goofy little smile. “And I hope you don’t feel like you’re useless or something because you’re not one of them.”
I shrugged. “I’m over that—sort of, I guess. It does get pretty lonely being stuck at home, while my friends are out there, right in the middle of things. But I know why they keep nagging me about staying put.” Peter did say that I grounded him and kept him sane. I thought that was really sweet. Too bad he was in danger of making me insane with all that crap about “waiting for the right time” and stuff.
Something buzzed softly, and I felt my left wrist tingle. It was the communicator device that Peter gave me, which I thought was better than a cell phone. Or it was a replacement, anyway, because the original got smashed to a million pieces not too long ago, while I was running for my life from that crazy-ass, zombified Calais fangirl. Another long story, that.
“Someone’s calling,” I said, turning it on. Brenda waited and diverted herself with our food. I stared at the watch face and saw that it was Peter. Well, duh—of course, it’d be him. He owned my communicator device’s partner.
Are you free this afternoon? It’s been slow, so I can hang out for a bit before turning into Calais.
And just like that, my boner came back. I brought my wrist closer to my face and talked into my “watch.” “I don’t work today. I’d love to hang out. Where and when?”
A few seconds later, Peter responded. At the Jumping Bean at around two-thirty. I want you to meet someone, but she won’t be staying with us. She’s got other things to do. I asked her to hang around for a bit, so I could introduce you to her.
“That’s cool. See you then.”
No schmoopy exchanges that time, which was fine with me. I figured that it’d be a good thing to practice being, you know, adult-like and totally cold toward each other. Then again, I knew that Peter sneaked in those messages on the way to class, so no chance for us to get all Romeo and Julian on each other.
Brenda wore this shit-eating grin when I looked up. “See? Told you a slow news day is a blessing for the heroes. Now you get to spend some quality time with Peter.”
“Yeah, but I’m still not getting past first base,” I grumbled, stuffing my face with an almond cookie. “It always feels like walking up an escalator that’s going down.”
She nodded and patted my hand, setting her food aside because the shop’s bell on the door rang, signaling a customer. “Get a pet, Eric. I’m telling you.” And then Brenda was on the main customer area, greeting and chatting up a middle-aged couple.
* * * *
“School” time went by in a blurry haze. Typical, really. I was slowly learning the cold, hard truth about education—public school
, private school, private tutoring, or home-schooling, it was all a major drag in the wash, rinse, repeat sort of way. Even if I were able to convince Mom and Dad to keep the tutorials going till I graduated from high school, it wouldn’t have mattered. Brenda’s cooking or store-bought treats or even orders for freshly cooked takeout stuff wouldn’t save me.
High school sucked big, fat, hairy donkey balls.
I couldn’t even remember how I managed to get out and find my way to the Jumping Bean. It was a little hard working my brain like that when it had already committed hara-kiri even before lunch. I even messed around with the idea of asking Mom and Dad if I could transfer back to Renaissance High, like, now, but whatever was left of my brain gave me a big kick up the ass and told me to shut up.
I needed a vacation. I wondered if there was such a thing as Spring Break or whatever the hell break with Dr. Dibbs.
The Jumping Bean was crowded, as usual. Students just out of school flocked there, and so did caffeine-addicted employees from nearby shops and banks. That said, I was surprised to see that Peter and his friend snagged a table toward the back. I spotted Peter first, lost in talk with a girl, as I pushed my way through roasted coffee bean-smelling patrons. When I called out to him, he gave a start and then beamed, waving. And there went my heart, all squishy and softy and fluttery. Sometimes I really grossed myself out with my own extreme levels of sap. It didn’t help that Peter had ordered me an iced mocha, and it was waiting for me beside his drink.
“Hey,” I said, smiling, as I walked up to the table.
Peter made room for me, sliding up the bench and patting the space next to him. “Eric, I want you meet someone.” He paused and gave me a quick peck on the cheek, which shocked me, considering that we were in a public place. I blinked for a moment and then glanced at him, wide-eyed. “This is Trini Alvarez. She’s from Renaissance High, too, and she’s a junior. Trini, this is Eric.”
The table where we sat was the corner table in the back of the coffee shop, and the bench was a short, curved one that looked like a midget, wide-mouthed letter C. Peter sat in the middle, and Trini was on his left. She was Latina—or more like a hipster Latina. She wore her hair boyishly short, but the cut was soft and girlish. She also wore trendy, black plastic glasses kind of like mine. She did the double-layer thing with her t-shirts, which worked well, considering how flimsy the fabric was—probably only cost the manufacturer twenty-five cents to make. What I really dug, though, was her collection of those old-school black rubber bracelets that were trendy back in the 80s. It was like one-fourth of her right arm was covered in those bracelets, with maybe five neon-colored ones thrown in randomly. Too bad I didn’t look good wearing those; trust me, I experimented with them when I was fifteen. Some people, whose identities I’d rather not reveal, didn’t know what to say other than, “My son’s gay, isn’t he?”
I’m looking at you, Dad.
Trini watched me while Peter made introductions, all quiet and polite and smiling. Then she stuck her hand out and said, “Nice to meet you, finally, Eric. Peter’s been telling me a lot about you.”
I shook her hand. “Oh, I doubt that,” I said between my teeth as I smiled back. “If he did, you’d be running like hell, not shaking my hand.”
Trini laughed—another thing I dug about her. She laughed without caring what she sounded like. No, she didn’t laugh like a boy, but she snorted when she laughed. It was like that nerd laugh but way cooler because it was her who was doing it.
“Okay, I won’t ask too much, then,” she said once she settled down.
“So the reason why I want you guys to meet is that Trini’s trying to petition the school to start a Gay-Straight Alliance,” Peter said, sounding proud. “And I volunteered to help out.”
“Is that right?” I said, looking at Peter and then Trini, surprised. “That sounds cool!” I paused for a moment, not sure how to ask, but I figured, why not? “Are you gay, Trini?”
She shook her head. “No, but my little brother is. He came out to us about a month ago, which was a pretty tough thing for him because Grandpa freaked out, and Dario loves him to pieces.” Trini shrugged, but I didn’t sense any sadness or anything like that in her. It was like she was simply reporting facts to us. “Grandpa comes from a different world, anyway, so it’s kind of understandable that he’d react like that. Mom and Dad are trying to deal with it, but they’re not giving Dario hell, at least. Or like, they’re still trying to figure out where to go from there, know what I mean? Me and Marta are cool with it. Oh, she’s my older sister.”
“And you want to start a GSA to help Dario,” I said, impressed.
“Yup. He’s still going through a rough time at home, and he needs support. The more friends he meets, the better, especially since he identifies as transgender, but he’s really not free to, you know, dress up the way he feels. I gotta admit that I don’t know much about transgender people, so I’m still learning as I go.”
Peter turned to me. “We’re looking for a faculty moderator right now, but it shouldn’t be a problem finding one. I mean—there’s Mrs. Klein, who teaches Biology, and she’s like a flaming liberal. Trini said that Dario came out to her first before everyone else, and she was the one who gave him advice.”
“Does she have a gay kid?” I asked, and both Peter and Trini shook their heads. “I hope she makes a good moderator if she takes on the job.”
“We just started putting things together, and there’s no guarantee that this’ll happen,” Trini said. “But even if it doesn’t, we can at least say that we tried, right?”
I was definitely impressed. “You should get into politics someday,” I said. “You can be, like, a straight ally spokesperson for gay rights or something.”
Trini grinned and giggled. “Not sure what I really want to do yet, but politics isn’t out of the picture. At the moment, when I get upset over shit, I just blast things on my computer. It’s loaded with old, cheesy computer games. That’s why I take real good care of it. If it dies, there’s no way I’m going to be able to get those games again.” She paused and leaned forward, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. “And my parents won’t buy us consoles and whatever. They think video games are satanic.”
“You own retro games?” I asked, now totally, totally impressed.
“Yeah! Well—it wasn’t a choice, anyway. I inherited that computer from a cousin who’s nuts. I don’t care much how sophisticated a game is. I just like shooting things down and hacking and slashing and stuff. Dario’s way better than me.” She paused and glanced at her watch. “Oh, I gotta go to work.” She slid to the end of the bench and gathered her backpack, which sat next to her. “It’s nice to meet you, Eric. We’ll have to hang out more often and, you know, chat and stuff. Maybe next time I’ll bring Dario with me. I’ll see you in school tomorrow, Peter.”
I didn’t know whether or not Trini was a caffeine junkie, but judging from the way she practically flew past customers, it’d be safe to say yes. Either that or she was just naturally hyper, which might account for her slim figure, which went well with her height. She was even shorter than Wade, and I thought that Wade was the pixiest of all pixies.
I turned to Peter. “Hey, that’s pretty cool of you guys to do this. I wish I were in Renaissance still, so I can be a part of that.” Actually, that’d be the only reason for my wanting to be back in regular school, anyway.
“You will be, once you’re done with your tutorials, right?” Peter looked at me and fell silent for a bit, still smiling. “This is nice.”
“Smelling like roasted coffee beans?” I wrinkled my nose, pressed my jacket sleeve against it, and inhaled. I think my clothes totally soaked in the scent of Sumatra Blend after only five minutes of sitting there. “Wow.”
“No, I mean just chilling like this, not having to look at my watch all the time because I need to turn into Calais by such-and-such hour and shit.” He picked up his drink and sipped, even smacking his lips like a kid, which was a rare sight. The
n he giggled—like a girl—looking like he was having way too much fun. I couldn’t help but stare at him, totally amused. And horny. Not that that was newsworthy, you know, but that lip-smacking thing did it.
“What do you want to do?” I took a few big gulps of my iced mocha, which was a pretty impressive feat, seeing as how I was able to do that with a straw. But I needed to pretend innocence and not be too suggestive with my question. Pretending innocence while my hormones were on overdrive was a total bitch, by the way.
“I don’t know.” Peter looked around, slumping against the backrest. “No idea.”
He didn’t know? He didn’t know? There I was, practically serving myself up on a massive silver platter, and he didn’t know? I frowned, mulling things over. Was there such a thing as a menstrual period for boys? If there were, I sure as heck knew what the symptoms were, and they weren’t fun. I needed to calm down and be, you know, mature about this.
I took another ginormous sip of my iced mocha. “I want a pet,” I said.
Peter stared at me. “You do?”
“Yeah. I figured having one would teach me something special about responsibility and all that crap. You know, to prepare me for old age.”
“Trent and I have always wanted one, too, but Dad’s allergic to animals—or, like, fur or dander or whatever. Not that it keeps Mom from being a yearly donor to a bunch of animal welfare organizations, of course.” Peter grinned, his eyes twinkling.
“You should do that more often.”
“What?”
“Talk about rebellion or even be rebellious. You light up whenever you talk about it, and it’s like—when you glow and be spontaneously happy like that, I wanna do you. Not that I need a good reason to get down and dirty with my own boyfriend, but when you light up, I get all sappy and hard.” I shrugged. “I wonder if this is what people call idiosyncratic or something that sounds like that.”
Dr. Morbid's Castle of Blood (Masks) Page 4