Changing Jamie

by Dakota Chase

  In short, Billy looked like shit warmed over.

  “Dylan? The track guy? He’s out?”

  “We both are. What are you doing here, Billy?” Every emotion, all the hurt and rage and fear I thought I’d buried after he left, came roaring back so quickly I felt my skin heat and my heart race with the force of it. “I thought you were living with Robbie.” I refrained from adding my usual suffix of “A-hole” to Robbie’s name, but only barely.

  Billy looked down at his shoes, hands hanging between his bent knees. “Nah. That’s over.”

  “Over? How can it be over? He gave you—”

  “I know, I know! Believe me, if I could do it all again, I would do things differently. Being positive sucks, Jamie! Nothing is like what I thought it would be!”

  I realized he was crying, even though he refused to lift his head to look at me. No, I told myself, do not let him suck you back in again. It was all about Billy before, and this is all about Billy now. It’ll always be the Billy Show—all Billy, all the time.

  He lifted the bottom of his T-shirt and swiped at his face with it, still not looking up at me. “I left home and went to Robbie’s, but he didn’t want me. I loved him, Jamie! At least I thought I did, but that was before I realized he was such a dickhead. He let me stay for a couple of weeks, sleeping on the sofa, but then he kicked me out. He said I was getting in the way and he wasn’t into babysitting.”

  “Did you go home? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I couldn’t go home. My dad told me when I left that that was the end. I wasn’t welcome there anymore. I… I found a few guys who let me stay with them for a while.”

  I didn’t want to hear this, did not want to deal with it, but what was I supposed to do? I didn’t have it in me to be a jerk. “Come on in. You can take a shower, and I’ll lend you some clean clothes.” I stepped around him and opened the door. He followed me inside as meekly as a lamb. I think that shocked me more than anything: Billy had never been meek in his entire life.

  We went directly to my bedroom, where I hung up my tuxedo and dumped the rest of the stuff in my closet. Billy made a beeline into the bathroom, and I heard the shower squeal as he turned it on. I’d gotten a good whiff of him, and he smelled like he hadn’t had more than a passing acquaintance with soap and water in quite a long while. I wondered who the men were he’d been living with, and where. From the smell of things and the look of Billy’s clothes, I was tempted to believe their address was a cardboard box in an alley somewhere.

  He stayed in the shower a long time, and I was positive it was only the water turning cold that finally drove him out to face me. I’d tossed a clean pair of underwear, a T-shirt, and sweats into the bathroom, draping them over the toilet, and he was dressed in them when the door cracked open and he walked out.

  I didn’t say anything, not right away. I didn’t trust myself. I wanted to scream at him, to remind him about all the crap he’d shoveled in my direction, but at the last minute I had second thoughts. I remembered Billy had basically screwed up his entire life, and I realized the last thing he needed was a guilt trip. Dumping on him might make me feel better, but it wouldn’t change anything except to make Billy feel worse. As much as he’d made me angry before, I couldn’t do it to him.

  Billy sat on the edge of the bed, hair dripping, soaking the neckline of the T-shirt I’d lent him. “I suppose I owe you an apology.”

  Suppose? Hell yes, you owe me an apology, I wanted to yell. Instead, I just nodded.

  To my horror, he broke down into sobs, covering his face with his hands, shoulders shaking. “It’s all wrong, Jamie! It’s not supposed to be this way!”

  “What way, Billy?” I asked as kindly as I could. I wasn’t able to keep all the bitterness out of my voice, but I tried.

  “Being positive sucks! I feel sick all the time now. Robbie didn’t tell me about any of this! I get diarrhea, there are sores in my mouth, and I’m always so tired, Jamie….”

  “What about the medication?”

  “I can’t afford it. I’m broke, and it costs thousands, Jamie. I sold my car, but that cash went fast. After it was gone, Robbie threw me out.”

  I sighed, feeling so bad for him that it was almost a physical pain. Billy didn’t deserve any of this, even though he’d been an idiot with his health. Nobody deserved it. “You need to go home, Billy.”

  “I told you I can’t! My dad said—”

  “I know, I know, but you have to try. They’re your parents, Billy, and I don’t think they were half as bad as you used to think they were. Your mom was really upset when you disappeared.”

  Billy shook his head, looking at me through his tears. “You weren’t there, Jamie. You didn’t hear the horrible things my dad said to me.”

  “As I recall, he’s not the only one who said rotten things.” I gave him a look, and he had the good sense to blush. “We all make mistakes. We’re human. You weren’t exactly Son-of-the-Year material, Billy. Give them a chance to make it right.”

  “What if they don’t change their minds? What am I going to do?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll help you figure it out. Let’s take it one step at a time. Call home, Billy,” I said firmly, handing him my phone.

  He took it, holding it in shaking hands, staring at it for several long minutes. For a minute I thought he wasn’t going to do it, but finally he flipped it open and dialed his parent’s number.

  “Dad? Yeah, it’s me. Daddy, I’m so sorry! I…. Yes, I’m at Jamie’s. No, Dad. He’s out of the picture. I’m done with him. I know. I’m so sorry! Yes. Yeah, I understand.” He snapped the phone closed and started to cry again.

  Oh, Lord! Did his dad say no? “Billy? What did he say?” I asked, fearing the worst.

  “That he’s coming to get me. I’m going home, Jamie!” Billy hiccupped, crying harder.

  This time, I joined him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THERE’S SOMETHING magical about prom night, or so my mom kept telling me.

  Mom had been going on for days about how the prom was special, how it marked the end of high school and the beginning of the rest of my life. She’d get this corny look in her eyes, like she did when she watched old black-and-white movies on TV. I rolled my eyes at her, but she made me wonder. Maybe she was right, I thought…. Maybe the magic of prom would make the papier-mâché decorations look good enough to decorate the set of a Spielberg flick, the glitter shine a little brighter, and music sound a little sweeter than on any other night. Then again, maybe it would still look like cheap crepe paper and chicken wire. I was excited to find out for myself.

  By the same token, it made me as nervous as a long-haired cat in a roomful of clipping shears.

  For a week, I’d had nightmares in which Dylan and I stood together on the stage having blood thrown on us à la Stephen King’s Carrie, or dodging knives, forks, cleats, and other sharp objects flung at us by the rest of the school.

  My nerves were frazzled because I was worried that someone might object to two guys going to prom together—that our tickets would be refused. I had visions of protesters waving signs, and riots in the streets.

  I always was a little on the overdramatic side.

  IT WAS seven thirty, and Dylan was due to arrive at the house any minute. He’d rented a limousine for the night so we’d arrive in style. I would have been happy driving there in his Mustang, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  I was dressed and ready to rock and roll, as the saying goes. Mom was even more nervous than I was, it seemed. She’d already straightened my bow tie a half-dozen times and kept swatting the shoulders of my tux, trying to rid it of nonexistent dust particles.

  “Don’t you let anyone give you any lip, Jamie,” she said. “But don’t let them get you into trouble, either. Just ignore anything anyone might say, and have a good time.” Again she tried to strangle me with my tie and flicked at the invisible dust on my shoulders. “Not too good a time, though. No drinking, and no anything else, e
ither. Promise me, Jamie!”

  “I promised a hundred times already, Mom,” I said, ducking away before she could reach for my tie again. I went to the fridge and took out the cold, clear plastic box that had been stored there since early that morning. Inside was a deep red rose boutonniere, framed against a spray of delicate white baby’s breath. I couldn’t wait to pin it to Dylan’s lapel. I set it down on the lamp table in the living room and waited for his arrival.

  The doorbell rang right on time, and it was a race between me and my mother to answer it. Honestly, she was so excited you’d think she was going instead of me.

  Dylan stood framed in the doorway, as handsome as ever in his sleek black tux, holding a florist’s box in his hand. He smiled at me, his eyes lighting up and sparkling. “Hey, Mrs. Waters,” he said, acknowledging my mother even though his eyes never left me. “You look great, Jamie.”

  “You too.”

  “You both look so handsome!” Mom squealed, pulling Dylan into the living room. “I need pictures! You two stand together over by the window.”

  “Mom….”

  “Might as well just do it, Jamie,” Dylan said, smiling. “I’m under orders from my parents to get copies. If I don’t produce photos of us, my mom will freak.”

  We stood side-by-side, fingers touching, until we were half-blinded by the flashes from Mom’s camera. She still wasn’t happy with the number of photos she’d taken, but if we’d stood there any longer, we would have been late for the prom.

  Dylan and I exchanged boutonnieres—I pinned his to his lapel, and he did the same for me, as Mom’s flash went off like a strobe light. His rose was red, mine was white, but we’d ordered them at the same time. I insisted on paying for the flowers and would be paying for breakfast after prom since he bought the tickets and refused to take a dime for the limousine. “My dates don’t pay,” he’d said obstinately.

  “I’m not some chick,” I’d replied, just as stubbornly. I had my pride too, after all. The only difference between us was that he had more disposable income than I did, so flowers and breakfast would have to do.

  The limo was long and black, with more than enough seating for a half-dozen people. The ride was smooth and seamless, and the driver hadn’t even batted an eye at his two male passengers holding hands in the back seat.

  When we pulled in front of the high school, the doors had already been open for about fifteen minutes, and people were streaming up the steps to the gym. Mr. Johnson, the P.E. teacher, and Mrs. Sero were taking tickets at a small table set just outside the doors.

  Dylan produced our tickets, but Mr. Johnson didn’t take them. “Where are your dates?” he asked. “There are only two tickets here.”

  “My date is standing right here next to me,” Dylan replied. He was going into defensive mode; I could hear it in his voice. I only hoped he wouldn’t argue with Johnson. For a minute it seemed my nightmares had been prophetic. I’d rather have skipped prom than seen Dylan suspended or expelled so close to graduation for taking a swing at a teacher.

  Johnson’s eyes widened, his face turning red. “You’re kidding, right? This is no time for pranks. You two may think it’s funny, but—”

  “Just take their tickets, Avery,” Mrs. Sero said, jabbing one of her bony elbows into Johnson’s side. He yelped, shooting her a dirty look.

  Dylan and I exchanged a shocked glance. Mrs. Sero? The woman who never passed on an opportunity to give us verbal wedgies in class over the slightest infraction was standing up for us? Who’d have thunk it?

  “They’re… together, Edna!” Johnson hissed, as if we weren’t standing right there in front of him. I wanted to rip the cheap toupee off his head and stomp on it. “They’re two boys!”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes, Avery! Step up and join the twenty-first century, will you?” Mrs. Sero said, reaching past him and taking Dylan’s tickets. She ripped them in two and handed half back with a smile. I believe it was the first time we’d ever seen her really smile in four years.

  She should do it more often, I thought. It makes her look so much younger.

  “Enjoy yourselves, boys.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Sero.” We exchanged another surprised look as we turned to leave without questioning whatever made her intervene on our behalf. Evidently, nobody argued with Mrs. Sero, not even the other teachers. In any case, we were both grateful she’d been there because things could have gotten ugly if our tickets had been refused.

  “Forget about it,” I whispered to Dylan as we hesitated in front of the doors. “Don’t let him get to you. It’s over and we’re in. Let’s just have fun.” I knew by the way a muscle twitched in his jaw that he was still angry.

  “I know, I know.” He looked at me and smiled, relaxing. “Ready?”

  I nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  It was dim beyond the doors, candlelight flickering on the linen-draped tables. Our tickets had us sitting at table eight, seats five and six respectively. We’d be sitting with some of the other members of the track team and their dates, all of whom knew Dylan and I were going together. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about any nastiness at the table.

  We passed underneath the cardboard cutout of the Arc de Triomphe, looking to the left and the right, trying to find our table. Then Dylan spotted Kenny Silverman waving to us and we headed in that direction.

  I could feel eyes on us every step of the way. The music played on, people continued dancing and picking at the bowls of chips on the tables, but I knew they were watching us. Waiting for us to do something “gay,” I suppose, although what, I had no idea. Maybe they thought one of us was going to show up in drag, or we’d start making out in the middle of the gym, or launch into the “YMCA” dance.

  “Hey, you guys look great!” Sheila Robbins, Kenny’s date said. I knew she’d dated Dylan too, which made me a little uncomfortable. She didn’t seem hostile, though, and when she smiled warmly at me, I felt much more at ease.

  Soon enough we were seated, eating and chatting as if Dylan and I had been together all our lives and weren’t the first gay couple to attend a prom together at BJ Good High.

  After dinner the band struck up something slow and Dylan stood up, gracefully plunking his napkin down on his chair. “Ready?” he asked, holding out his hand. “Come on. I want to trip the light fantastic.”

  Dance? Us? No way! Not a chance!

  A hush fell over the room, or at least it did in my mind. I felt as if every eye in the building was zeroed in on us. Then I looked up into Dylan’s eyes and he winked at me.

  What the hell… you only live once, I thought, taking his hand and standing up. He pulled me onto the dance floor. The song playing was Melissa Etheridge’s “Come To My Window,” a slow and sexy ballad. There was no fumbling over who would lead; Dylan put his hand on my waist, and I didn’t argue. My left hand rested lightly on his shoulder, our other hands clasped together, and our feet began to move in time to the music.

  We gazed into one another’s eyes and forgot there was a gym full of people watching us. There was only Dylan and me, and for those precious few minutes no one else even existed. I didn’t want the song to ever end, but it did, and it was then I realized no one else had stepped out onto the floor—we’d been dancing all alone out there. My heart stopped for a moment, but when people began clapping and whistling, it started beating again, pushing all the blood into my cheeks. I knew I was blushing furiously, but I was smiling too.

  Then the band launched into something fast and furious. I don’t fast-dance. I never could. I’m all elbows and knees on a dance floor—uncoordinated and geeky. My neck tends to disappear, swallowed up by my hunching shoulders until I look like a turtle trying to duck back into its shell. Luckily, Dylan didn’t seem to mind that I led him back to our table.

  After that, the night seemed to fly by. We danced to the slow numbers, sat out the fast ones. We ate, we laughed, and we toasted each other, the school, and the track team with glasses of syrupy-sweet fruit pun
ch. It was one of the best nights of my life.

  I felt a twinge of jealousy when the ballots for Prom King and Queen were passed out. I’d had a secret little fantasy of Dylan and I being voted Prince and Prince, like a couple of other guys had been not long ago at another high school in a different state, but we hadn’t been nominated. I got over it quick enough, and Dylan and I voted for Sheila and Kenny. They won too.

  The night passed far too quickly. Suddenly, it was midnight and everyone was saying good-bye. A bunch of us were going to the diner for breakfast afterward, but it was still kind of sad the prom was over.

  You only get one prom, I remembered Dylan telling me. One prom, one prom date.

  I was so glad that he was mine, and that we’d braved our fears and had gone together. I don’t think I was ever as proud of myself as I was that night, walking out of prom with a group of people who’d accepted us, with the guy I loved on my arm.

  I knew then that I loved Dylan. I’d realized it for sure when he’d led me to the dance floor, wanting to dance with me so badly he hadn’t cared at all what anyone else might think.

  Maybe I’d tell him, maybe I wouldn’t. It didn’t matter.

  All that did matter was that it had been a perfect night.

  Epilogue

  THE WORLD changed the year I turned seventeen, but no one noticed except me.

  I learned some incredibly important lessons that year, things about life and myself I knew I’d carry with me forever. I met a guy I sincerely loved, one who loved me in return. Whether that love would last was anyone’s guess, but I cherished the moments I had with Dylan while I had them.

  Dylan won his scholarship to State, but I was not accepted there. I was going back to my initial plan of taking classes at the community college. I did score a small scholarship, and together with federal grants, it would be enough to get me through the two-year program. After that, with an associate’s degree in my pocket, I could reapply to State to finish my bachelor’s.