Calling Calling Calling Me

by Natasha Washington

  “Well, then I’m keeping mine secret too,” Patrick said.

  Josh narrowed his eyes. “I bet my secret costume will be better than your secret costume.”

  Patrick raised one eyebrow. “Game on.”

  * * *

  Two days before Halloween, Taneisha pulled her chair up next to Patrick in creative writing during pair critiques, whispering low, “Have you talked to Eric lately?”

  “Um,” Patrick said, feeling his cheeks heat. “I—why are you asking me this?”

  “Because I’m concerned,” Taneisha said, “and because he told me you haven’t been answering his texts.”

  Eric had texted Patrick a couple times, friendly little notes asking him what’s up, how’s the writing going, do you want to go out dancing sometime? Patrick should have texted him back, but every time he sat down to do so, he’d thought about Josh leaning across that table at Harvey’s, his voice going soft when he’d talked about coming out to Benny. He’d thought about Josh on the beach, his hands on his arms. The way he’d said: Anything is possible. Anything.

  He’d thought: What am I even doing?

  “Please tell me this isn’t about Josh,” Taneisha said, like a freaky mind reader.

  Patrick stiffened.

  “Oh, Lordy,” Taneisha sighed.

  “What do you…why do you think it’s about Josh?” Patrick asked.

  “Because Artemis told me how you freaked out when she and Josh showed up at my party,” Taneisha said, “and I saw you two at the show, standing all close—”

  “That wasn’t anything,” Patrick said. “Josh’s always like that. He’s a touchy-feely person, that doesn’t—”

  Taneisha held up one hand, and Patrick shut his mouth.

  “Josh’s a good guy, I get it,” Taneisha said. “He’s sweet, he’s funny, he plays guitar, he’s cute. But just because he’s a good guy doesn’t mean he’s a good guy for you.”

  “How do you know who’s a good guy for me?” Patrick snapped.

  Taneisha drew back, pursing her lips.

  Patrick exhaled. “I’m sorry. That was—”

  “Gossip time over, people!” Professor Cafferty shouted over the muddle of conversation. “We’re doing a free write for the last few minutes of class. Get out your pen, don’t let it stop moving until I say so. This is your prompt.”

  “Taneisha…” Patrick murmured.

  On the dry-erase board Professor Cafferty scrawled in large, red letters: WHAT SCARES ME.

  “Happy Halloween,” Professor Cafferty said, and winked.

  “I’m sorry, Taneisha,” Patrick hissed, and she reached across the aisle and patted his hand.

  “It’s okay, baby,” she said, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  He opened his notebook to a blank page and wrote: Going back to how things used to be. Going back. Going back. Going back.

  Middle school is hell, he wrote, but so many people seem to forget this. I think we block it out because we don’t want to deal with the PTSD.

  I spent part of the eighth grade being homeschooled because the bullying was so bad I physically could not survive an entire school day. I was small—smaller than I am now—and chubby and a smart-ass, and I sounded like Mickey Mouse. I kept waiting for my voice to dip and crack like all the other idiot boys in my class, but it never did. I was the perfect target for bullies, stubborn and nerdy and easy to knock down and bruise and stuff into lockers. Whenever I tried to fight back, I sounded like I’d sucked down a bunch of helium, and nobody takes you seriously when you sound like a little kid.

  I’m scared to go back to that place—not literally, of course, but being in that emotional place again, filled with self-loathing and fear. I’m scared of being scared. I don’t ever want to feel like that again about myself. Ever.

  It makes it hard to trust people, knowing how much they can hurt me.

  “Time’s up,” Professor Cafferty said, and Patrick exhaled.

  “Hey,” Taneisha said, “you okay?”

  Patrick realized his eyes were wet. He swiped at them with the back of his hand.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I really am sorry. I like Eric a lot, and I’m glad you set us up.”

  Taneisha was giving him the kind of sympathetic look that made Patrick feel like his insides were mushy.

  “Don’t even worry about it, boo,” Taneisha said. “I don’t mean to be pushy. I just want you to be happy.”

  Patrick swallowed around the lump in his throat.

  “I know,” he said.

  Taneisha patted him on the shoulder.

  “I don’t know if this will make you feel better or worse,” Taneisha said, “but Artemis told me that Josh is really good in bed.”

  Patrick started to laugh.

  * * *

  Patrick agonized about his costume for the next twenty-four hours straight.

  “I swear to God, I am going to put you in a sexy kitten costume and that is going to be it,” Taneisha said in the fifth costume store Patrick dragged her into.

  Patrick had never seen so much glitter and feathers in one place. This particular store had a dominatrix costume for a dog, as well as a pet costume with sleeves patterned with tattoos.

  “I don’t know what to be,” Patrick whined. “This is important, Taneisha. C’mon.”

  Taneisha cocked her head to one side and gave him a tight once-over that made him flush.

  “Halloween is about being something you’re not, right?” she said. “Like—dressing in something different.”

  “Yeah…”

  “I think you should go, like…motorcycle butch,” Taneisha said. “Marlon Brando in The Wild One. It’s simple, it’s hot, you could totally work it.”

  “Are you serious?” Patrick squeaked.

  “Totally serious,” Taneisha said. Her eyes brightened. “Oooh, we can buy you new jeans! And I know exactly where to get you a jacket.”

  “You’re gonna solve all my problems, huh?” Patrick said, feeling his mouth tip into a smile.

  “Oh, honey, I don’t know about all,” Taneisha said, grinning wide, “but if I help you pick out jeans, trust me, it’ll solve a few.”

  * * *

  Halloween morning, Patrick woke unpleasantly early to Freddy playing his spooky sound effect CD at high volume.

  At least he was guessing that was what it was, because otherwise somebody was clearly being murdered in the living room.

  “Are you serious right now?” Kai shouted next door.

  Then there was some loud cursing and banging followed by Josh stumbling out into the hallway shouting, “Freddy, no, no, no no no no…”

  “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Freddy said, and lowered the volume on the screeching, chain-rattling, and echo-ey ghost moans.

  “It is going to be Halloween all fucking day,” Josh said. “All day and all night, Freddy.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it!” Freddy said. “Fuck you all. When this party sucks, it will be all your fault.”

  “You are such a drama queen. Jesus Christ.”

  Patrick was glad he was able to escape for most of the day to his classes, because by the time he left, the apartment was already in a state of complete chaos. He nearly tripped over a sprawled skeleton in the hallway, the entire living room was a mass of cobwebs, and there was an alarming amount of fake blood on the kitchen table.

  At least…Patrick hoped it was fake.

  He decided to grab breakfast on the way rather than look in the fridge, as he would not be surprised to find a severed head inside.

  Sociology class passed in a dull blur. Taneisha met him afterwards, carrying a giant duffel bag filled with what she called her “costuming supplies,” and they made their way back to the Castro together.

  “I am so excited for your costume,” Taneisha said. “It is going to be lit.”

  “I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I still feel like I’m going to look like a joke.”

  “You are not a valid judge of your own hotness,” Ta
neisha said, “but I am, and I can tell you—those jeans are smokin’, the jacket is fabulous, and you even look good in hats.”

  Patrick ducked his head, blushing.

  “God, you are so cute,” Taneisha said, pinching one of his cheeks.

  He shoved her away, laughing. She continued pawing at him as he twisted his key in the lock.

  They both narrowly avoided being attacked by a giant paper ghost, which swooped down from the ceiling. Taneisha shrieked, and Patrick flailed and almost fell on his ass.

  “Yes!” Mike said from the end of the hallway, and he and Freddy high-fived.

  “It’s gonna be a long night,” Taneisha sighed.

  Alexis showed up around seven p.m. wearing the dominatrix outfit Patrick was pretty sure was the same one he saw in that costume shop for a dog. Except, like, in person size.

  “That better not be your costume,” Alexis said when Patrick answered the door. “Because it is not a good one.”

  “It isn’t my costume,” Patrick said. “It’s my clothes.”

  “Maloney, get your ass in here and put on your costume!” Taneisha shouted from his room.

  “Is that Miss Taneisha?” Alexis said.

  Taneisha poked her head out. “Alexis! Oooh, girl. That outfit is somethin’ else.”

  “I know,” Alexis said. “Are you…shut up, you—”

  “Hell yeah, I’m Madonna,” Taneisha said.

  Even Patrick, with his limited knowledge of fashion, could admit Taneisha looked fierce. She was wearing a white bedazzled bustier, a filmy white short skirt and elbow-length fingerless white gloves.

  “Gorgeous, darling,” Alexis drawled.

  “Get in here, Maloney,” Taneisha said. “I know you’re stalling, but I am getting you in this costume now.”

  An hour later the house was alive with the sounds of party preparations and loud hip-hop. Patrick was shifting uncomfortably on his bed while Alexis messed with his hair. These jeans were really tight. Also the shirt was tight. Everything was tight! And what the hell was Alexis even doing with his hair?

  “I’m going to be wearing a hat,” Patrick said. “I don’t understand why this is taking so long.”

  “We need to get you a proper haircut,” Alexis said, prowling around him and squinting in a way that made Patrick feel like he was a test subject of some kind. “Like—some layers, decent product—”

  “I’m leaving now,” Patrick said, getting to his feet. “With my hat. Worn over my terrible improperly styled hair.”

  “Oh no, it’s fine now!” Alexis said cheerfully. “I fixed it!”

  Patrick had nearly extricated himself from Alexis’s clutches when his door banged open and Josh barreled through.

  Patrick stopped breathing.

  “You,” Josh said, staring at Patrick with huge eyes. “Marlon Brando. Oh my God.”

  Patrick could not actually form words.

  Josh was shirtless except for complicated crisscrossed flesh-toned suspenders and a black bow-tie. His black dress pants were tailored to perfection and his eyes were rimmed with kohl and his lips were so red and…Patrick was done. He was done.

  Josh grasped Taneisha’s hand and kissed it. “You can call me…your master of ceremonies.”

  He began humming “Life is a Cabaret.”

  “Ooooh, Josh, you look fine,” Taneisha said. “I do like a boy who can pull off a little eyeliner.”

  “You can make out with me now,” Alexis informed him, and Josh chuckled.

  “…but she’s a very cunning linguist,” Patrick murmured, without thinking, and Josh’s mouth widened into a grin.

  Josh wrapped a hand around his arm, currently encased in the sleeve of his leather jacket, and said, “You look amazing.”

  His eyes were dark and hot. Patrick swallowed.

  “You…you too,” he managed.

  “I think it’s time for shots!” Alexis announced, and yeah, wow. Patrick had never needed a drink so much in his life.

  * * *

  By ten p.m., Patrick was already regretting his costume. The leather jacket had way too many buckles and belts and metal-type things, and the heavy fabric combined with his cap and boots and the shared body heat of too many people now crammed into their never-that-large-to-begin-with apartment was making him super-sweaty.

  People seemed to be having a good time, jumping around and pushing and making out and drinking, drinking, drinking. Patrick was mostly praying he didn’t pass out before, like, eleven o’clock.

  “Hellooooo, Patrick,” he heard, and he was suddenly tackled from behind. He had a moment of sheer terror before strong hands spun him around and there was Eric, standing in front of him in marine dress whites and grinning from ear to ear.

  “You look so good,” Eric said, and before Patrick had a chance to say anything regarding how edible Eric looked in that uniform (dear God), Eric was tugging him forward and planting one on him, hard.

  There was intent and tongue in that kiss, and when Eric pulled back, Patrick was reeling. He huffed out a breath and tried to form words, but couldn’t quite do it. This seemed to be a pattern he was developing.

  “Happy Halloween!” Eric said. He frowned and pressed his fingers into the corners of Patrick’s mouth, trying to push them up into a smile. “Relax. Why so serioussss?”

  “You’re kind of drunk, aren’t you?” Patrick said.

  “You’re kind of gorgeous,” Eric drawled, and tugged Patrick close, swaying with him to the music.

  Eric felt awfully good pressed up against him, all tight, compact muscle and warm hands. Patrick went with it, thinking: Why not? What am I waiting for?

  Though of course it had never been quite so much a question of what as who.

  “You’re ridiculous,” Patrick told him.

  “I’m ridiculous?” Eric raised his eyebrows. “You’re the one who’s been avoiding me, you jerk. Are you afraid of all this?”

  Patrick snorted. “All this? All what, exactly?”

  Eric pouted, which Patrick had to admit was pretty adorable.

  “I’m sorry,” Patrick said. “I should have texted you back.”

  Eric reached inside the chest pocket of his uniform and produced a slim silver flask. He held it out to Patrick, smirking.

  “Liquid courage?” he asked.

  Patrick took a swig, and when he handed it back, Eric kissed him again. Eric’s kisses were so steady and sweet, like he was.

  Patrick danced with Eric for a while, long enough to get a lot tipsier off sips from Eric’s flask, and to acquire an insistent erection from being so close to him. Eric was, after all, a dancer. When Eric tugged him closer and ground against him, he gave Patrick a smug look that made Patrick want to kiss him and smack him in equal measure.

  “Where is your bathroom?” Eric asked, as the song switched up, going from a fast dance beat to a slower ballad, and Patrick directed him to it. When Eric disappeared down the hallway, Patrick let out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

  “Punch?”

  Patrick flinched in anticipation, but Alexis appeared beside him and shoved a plastic cup of bright pink liquid into his hand. He took a swallow and coughed.

  “This punch,” he informed Alexis, “has a lot of alcohol in it.”

  Alexis wrapped a hand around Patrick’s wrist and squeezed, a smidge too hard.

  “You are a genius,” she told him. “A genius, Fresno.”

  “Please don’t call me that,” Patrick said, but he was pretty sure Alexis didn’t hear him over the thump and thud of the music.

  “Except,” Alexis continued, “you’re also kind of a dumbass.”

  Patrick considered this, confused. He had been called a lot of not-so-nice things in his lifetime, but “dumb” had never been one of them. If anything, Patrick had always been a bit too smart for his own good.

  “What?” Patrick asked.

  “This whole…thing,” Alexis said, waving her hand, “with you and Josh. It’s dumb, and you’re bein
g dumb about it.”

  Patrick had no idea what Alexis was talking about. He and Josh had worked out their issues. Or so he’d thought. They were friends now. Right?

  “Wait, did he say something to you about—”

  “He doesn’t have to say anything,” Alexis said, giving Patrick a withering look. “I know him, I used to live in the bedroom next door to him, I can read his stupid boy signals. He is totally into you, and I know you’re into him because, like, how could you not be, and plus you look at him like he invented the iPhone or something. I don’t know, it’s ridiculous.”

  Patrick’s stomach fell into his shoes.

  “Alexis, are you saying—” he stuttered out.

  “He has been watching you all night with dancer boy,” Alexis said. “Figure it out, baby.”

  She turned and tottered off in her impossibly high-heeled patent leather boots before Patrick could say anything else.

  Patrick spotted Eric on the other side of the room, talking to some skinny hipster-looking dude dressed as Han Solo.

  Had Josh really been watching him all this time with Eric? Alexis, especially when drunk, may not be the most reliable source of information or relationship advice, but then again…maybe she was.

  Patrick needed to know.

  He needed to find Josh.

  14

  Josh hated Halloween, he decided. Intensely, extensively, with a passion greater than he hated megachurches, celery, and those hard candies that tasted like soap.

  This is torture, he thought. I am torturing myself.

  What Josh was actually doing was watching Eric dance with Patrick. Eric was dressed as a marine, because why the hell not. Why wouldn’t the gorgeous redheaded dancer be dressed as a marine? He probably just had the uniform laying around, Josh thought. Eric is from Ohio, right? There’s no way somebody in his family isn’t in the military.

  Eric groped Patrick, his hands finding purchase on Patrick’s hips, and Lord. Patrick in that outfit was… It was unfair, is what it was. Nobody barely out of high school should look that good in a leather motorcycle jacket, and who even knew Patrick’s ass could look like that in a well-fitting pair of jeans? Well. Josh knew, maybe. He had been looking. He had done his research.