Tales from Foster High

by John Goode

  I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, praying that if I was going to start bawling, no one would notice until I was past them. I know he wanted to follow me, but there was no earthly reason why someone like him would run after someone like me.

  And for once, I was happy for that.

  There was nothing left to do but flee after a scene like that. I had just received more attention in the last five minutes than I had in the entirety of my time in school. Though everyone has Ferris Bueller-like dreams where they jump up and sing “Twist and Shout” in front of thousands, the reality of having all those people looking at you is a completely different situation. I was mortified beyond belief, and the thought of going back to school ever again was daunting.

  I ran home.

  The joy of having an alcoholic party mom was that if you came barging through the door hours before school was out, you didn’t receive so much as a raised eyebrow in response. I pushed the door to my bedroom open and froze in place when I saw Brad sitting on my bed, thumbing through a well-worn copy of The Outsiders. He looked over with a concerned look on his face. “Hey.”

  “You have a friend here!” my mom called from the living room.

  Sighing, I closed the door as I dropped my backpack to the floor. There was nowhere in the small room to sit other than the bed, and there was no way in gay hell I was going to sit next to him near a bed again. Instead I leaned up against the far wall and tried to look as intimidating as I could. “How did you get here before me?” I asked, my confusion interrupting my anger.

  He tossed the book back to the ground. “I have a car, what did you expect?”

  Dammit.

  “So what do you want?” I asked, knowing whatever anger I had hoped to express in my voice was lost after such an idiotic question.

  “How’s your hand?” he asked, looking at the way I was clutching it.

  “Fine,” I said with a clipped annoyance. “What do you want?”

  He paused, his eyes boring into me with an intensity that, frankly, I wasn’t prepared for. “Are you pissed at me?”

  “What do you think?” I shot back.

  “I think that if you are pissed, I’m not sure why.” In fact, he sounded angrier than I ever was, for some reason.

  “You’re pissed at me?” I blurted out as my mind struggled to connect the dots.

  He dropped his head, breaking eye contact for a moment as he muttered to the ground, “Well, I’m not filled with love at the moment.”

  The sarcasm was like a blade to me for some reason. My indignation and frustration evaporated under the sudden and overwhelming urge to apologize to him. I had no idea what I should apologize for, but the desire remained nonetheless. Finally I was able to ask, “What did I do?”

  He looked back up at me, and our eyes met. “What in the world made you walk towards the Table?”

  Normally I would have been disgusted by the way his voice emphasized its importance, somehow changing it from a table to the Table, but I was literally shocked by his question. “What?” I sputtered as my mental gears ground themselves to a standstill while I tried to process his words.

  “Oh, come on,” he said, standing up suddenly, reminding me again of our physical differences. It was daunting to have him here in such a familiar and enclosed space. My bedroom was barely large enough for me and my issues, but with an angered Brad standing not three feet away from me, it was positively microscopic. “You were making a beeline straight towards it, and you know it. What possessed you to do something that stupid?”

  And my mind finally found a gear. “Excuse me?” I said, more of a demand than a question. If he had been any more shocked by the change in my demeanor, his jaw would have literally hit the floor as I continued to berate him, uncaring whether I upset him or not. “Who do you guys think you are, anyways?” I took a step toward him and felt far too much enjoyment at seeing him stumble a half step back. “Do you honestly think people need permission to get near your precious table?” I saw his face blanch as my voice conveyed seventeen years of disdain when I snarled. “I get you guys are popular, but I know you did not come all the way to my house to tell me I’m not good enough to walk towards a fucking table.” Another step, and he fell back onto my bed with a half yelp. “Because I thought at the very least you and I might be two people that could at least talk without me asking for diplomatic immunity first!”

  The look on his face gave me a clue as to how I must have looked when he confronted Kelly: he just gaped at me, wide-eyed.

  “I’m a human being, Brad, and I can walk up to any place I want to.” I stood over him, my breath coming quickly as my heart pounded from the adrenaline. Even with him flat on my bed I held no illusions that he wasn’t more physically imposing than I was. But a crack had snapped open in that bravado he wore as a set of armor. And what I saw underneath was as alluring as it was intoxicating.

  I want to say it was the thrill of the moment. I want to blame the moment on his vulnerability. I’d love to blame it on a half-dozen different things, but the honest to God truth was I did what I did because I knew we were starting to crash, and I didn’t want to go out like that.

  I fell on top of him, his hands moving to my waist automatically as our hips met. My mouth moved over his like an animal staking its claim. I bit his bottom lip as I pulled away. I felt his hands grip me and pull me closer as I kissed my way to the side of his face and down his neck. I could hear the whispered “Oh God!” as I felt the tendons clench between my teeth, the unmistakable rush of domination filling my senses. Feeling his chest move against mine as I nibbled the muscles where his neck met his shoulder, and the pressure of his crotch grinding upward as I licked my way back up to his ear was like the first hit of a drug.

  My head was swimming as I pulled his head to the side, savagely plunging my tongue into his ear. His gasp twisted tighter, into a near squeal, as his entire body reacted as if touched by a live wire. I tried not to focus on the fact that I had one of the most popular jocks in the school writhing under me and just enjoy the physicality of it, but I had to admit that who he was made it as enjoyable as what we were doing. I bit lightly at his lobe as I felt him take a halting breath. In the lowest of voices, I whispered, “You like that?”

  He nodded quickly, and I could tell he didn’t trust his voice right then. I felt him moving his hips so that he rubbed against me again and again. I may have been skinny, but I wasn’t lacking in every department that made up a man. His eyes got bigger for a moment in surprise, and then the smile spread across his mouth. “Not such a mouse after all?” he asked as he squeezed the head softly.

  I closed my eyes in ecstasy as I pressed my forehead to his chest..

  His voice purred in my ear as he echoed my own question. “You like that?”

  I nodded, trying not to groan as he began to move his hand up and down.

  “God, you feel good.”

  I looked up at him, confused, not sure he was talking to me. When I saw he was, a smile came over my face.

  “You’re hot,” I said, pressing my hand over him, beginning to rub. I felt him buck up into my touch as his eyes clenched in the moment. I was entranced by the way he bit his lower lip, his tongue snaking out for a brief moment as I began to rub harder and faster. I went back to his ear, probing around the sensitive skin. “You want that?” I whispered between licks, the feeling of him moaning under me, his body unable to resist me, like nothing I had ever felt before.

  “Oh God, Kyle,” he murmured, his voice trailing off into incoherent sounds.

  I said nothing as I moved harder.

  “Oh Jesus!” he cried as his hips stopped moving.

  I kissed him, his tongue thanking me in ways language would never have been able to replicate. His arms had pressed against my waist, pulling me against him as his hips literally bucked off the bed in response. He was panting like a dog as he held me close to him, his body shaking with each little earthquake his member produced. His hands slid up my back,
pulling me down into an embrace as he settled back onto the bed.

  After a few seconds he asked in an amused tone, “So do you do that a lot?”

  I didn’t look up as I traced a circle around one of his nipples through his T-shirt. “Never.”

  He moved my face up as he kissed me again. “Seriously?”

  I nodded, embarrassed.

  He didn't move for a few seconds and then whispered, “Thank you,” before he kissed me.

  His hand moved down to my jeans slowly, and I laughed in nervousness.

  This was the exact moment my mom chose to pound on the door. “Leaving!” she bellowed. “Back later tonight.”

  I’m not sure if I kicked him away or if Brad threw himself away from me, but I do know that if there was a world record for buttoning a pair of 501s and jumping up while smoothing out your hair, I broke it at that very moment. I could literally feel my heart pounding as if threatening to detonate my rib cage from within like an action movie explosion. I glared at my lap angrily, blaming it for what was obviously going to be death by embarrassment once my mother saw me with a hard-on.

  Neither one of us even drew a breath until we heard the front door slam shut.

  I collapsed back onto the bed with an audible sigh while Brad slumped back against the far wall. “Oh my God,” he half moaned.

  “I think I just had a stroke,” I said, pulling a pillow over my face.

  There was a pause before the bed shifted, and I felt a weight over me. The pillow moved aside, and his face filled my vision. “Well, I can tell there is some swelling.” His grin made the innocent phrase so dirty that I felt my body react despite my state of terror.

  “You’re crazy,” I said, not pushing him off me.

  “I might be a little impaired,” he said, drawing closer, his lips barely ghosting over mine.

  “What if she comes back?” I asked, not able to draw a full breath from anticipation.

  “I jump again,” he said as his lips touched mine.

  And the sound of the front door opening was like a gunshot going off next to us. This time I did push him off of me. The sound of him hitting the far wall was a pretty solid thud. After a second, my door opened, and my mom poked her head in. “You might want to move your car,” she said, looking at Brad. “There are a couple of guys across the parking lot eyeing it pretty hard.”

  He looked like a puppet being jerked up by his strings he went from sitting to standing so fast. One hand was digging in his pocket as he looked over at me. “We okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Call me tonight,” he said, rushing past my mom and out the door.

  She watched him leave and looked back at me. I felt myself internally cringe as she focused on me. “Nice boy.”

  I nodded again.

  Her gaze felt like a slow-moving drill boring into my skull as we stared at each other for a moment. I could see questions like “So what’s he doing with you?” and “So what’s wrong with him?” brewing in her mind, but she had nothing to complain about yet, so she didn’t have a toehold to use as a starting point.

  Yet.

  Her gaze told me I was on report with her. She knew something was up, and she was going to find out what it was. “Be back later,” she said, finally closing my door and leaving.

  Five minutes later, I let out the mental breath I had been holding since I had first walked in and seen him sitting on my bed.

  “I am so dead,” I said to no one.

  I COULD still feel him under me even though he was gone. I could still taste him in my mouth even though hours had passed since he had left. Like an afterimage from looking at the sun, everywhere I looked, all I saw was him. I wandered around the house, dazed. The fact that Mom was not there, coupled with the fact I had just made out with a real boy on my bed, made me feel the closest to drunk I’d been in all my seventeen years.

  I tried to throw a leash on my mind as it began to wander over the details of what had just happened and began to imagine what might happen. I knew it was dangerous territory, and in my experience, nothing good ever came from straying down that path. Every time I had dared to hope for something in my life, it seemed that fate, like a small, angry child, went out of its way to make sure I not only didn’t get it but was instead rewarded with the exact opposite. In my mind, hope was as illusory as unicorns and leprechauns, so when I felt my thoughts move from what was to what could be, I tried to stop them.

  But it was too late.

  I could see us, secret lovers behind everyone’s back, every day pretending to be nothing but acquaintances, every night, so much more. I envisioned us holding hands in the darkness of a movie theater, his leg pressing up against mine, our bodies silently passing messages to each other. In the distant future I could see us sitting together, both of us stuffed into the oversized chair we owned, watching a movie and sharing a bowl of popcorn. I could feel the warmth of him as I leaned into him, completely ignoring the movie.

  I wondered if we could keep it hidden for long. I mean, eyes wander, smiles linger. Only a fool would not be able see what was going on between us. His being one of the most popular guys at school might make it less shocking than I was thinking it would be. He could come by and pick me up for school, I’d see him between classes, and we could have lunch….

  “Sonofabitch!” I said, jumping up from my bed.

  It had taken me almost three hours to remember that we never actually finished the conversation we had started. The shock and humiliation of the afternoon came rushing back in an instant, and my previously dispelled anger suddenly reappeared. I had no idea where my cell was, so I was forced to grab our old house phone and jab Brad’s number into the receiver, as if it had been complicit in Kelly’s attack.

  Brad picked up on the third ring. “Hey, I was wondering if you were going to call,” he said, the smile evident in his voice.

  “You never answered me,” I said, trying my best to keep his grin from infecting my own face.

  “About?” he asked, backpedaling a bit.

  “About me being a human being,” I said, the anger seeping into my voice slowly.

  “I agree that you’re a human being,” he said, obviously thinking this was some part of a joke.

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” he said, his voice becoming more serious. “You are a human being.” After a beat, he added, “Unless you’re a vampire or a werewolf. That’d be weird. You’re not a vampire or a werewolf, right?”

  “I’m serious,” I said, my patience fading.

  “So am I!” he said, obviously having fun with this. “On one hand it means I’m into necrophilia, and on the other, I’m into bestiality. Either way I’d be a sick puppy.”

  “Brad,” I said, interrupting his monologue.

  “Seriously, what is wrong with those movies?” he rambled on.

  “Brad,” I tried again.

  “I mean, they are good-looking dudes, but at the end of the day, you’re dating a dead guy or a dog, and who wants that?”

  “Answer the fucking question!” I roared into the phone.

  There was silence for agonizing seconds, and then I could hear his voice, filled with as much emotion as any computer. “What was the question?”

  Fair point. I hadn’t actually asked anything since that afternoon. “Do you think I need to ask permission to approach your table?”

  The shock in his voice was so genuine that I felt like a complete ass. “Is that what you’re upset about?”

  “You think I shouldn’t be?” I shot back, feeling more upset than angry.

  He was quiet for so long I thought for a moment he had hung up. I wanted to ask if he was there, but we were two teenage boys in a standoff, which meant we were not going to just talk about what was wrong but play some stupid game of emotional chicken with each other instead.

  Finally I heard his voice say, with a coldness that startled me, “I’m coming over.” And he hung up.

  “Brad?” I asked, hoping tha
t maybe I had gained the ability to jump back in time five seconds and stop him from hanging up and somehow avert this whole train wreck.

  But it didn’t happen.

  It took him less than fifteen minutes to knock on my door. I considered just turning off the lights and pretending I wasn’t home, but since I wasn’t in the middle of a bad sitcom, the odds of it working were pretty slim. Instead, I took a deep breath and forced myself not to shrink away as I normally did when confronted with conflict.

  The door was barely open when he barged in, sounding like he was continuing a conversation we were having just on the other side of the door. Obviously furious, he snapped, “Is that what you think of me?” while coming to a stop in the middle of the living room.

  I closed the door and locked it on the off chance my mom was going to make another impromptu appearance. The lock would at least give us a few seconds warning this time. “Like what?” I asked back.

  “Oh, come on. I already tried to pretend I didn’t know what we were talking about. Now you’re gonna take a stab at it?”

  I paused for a moment, not sure how to proceed. This was all too familiar to me, and that was throwing off what I was sure was righteous indignation. “I don’t—” I blurted. “I mean I didn’t—”

  “You think I am seriously someone who would think other people are beneath me?” He was demanding answers now, and his tone and manner were entering dangerous territory as far as my mind was concerned.

  He was starting to sound like my mom.

  “That isn’t what I said.” I choked, trying to bite back the bitter, metallic taste that filled my mouth.

  “Then what did you say?” he said, taking a step forward. “Come on, Kyle, what do you really think of me?”

  I held my ground the best I could, but the sheer power of his anger coupled with his frame made it an intimidating task.

  “Come on, Kyle! What kind of jock douche bag am I?”

  “Brad, I—” I started to say under my breath.

  “What?” He took the final step toward me. “I can’t hear you,” he said as he reached out toward me.