“You’ve got a real smart mouth for a faggot. No one ever taught you any manners, did they?”
I see something then in Trent’s eyes I haven’t seen before, a different kind of excitement. Like he’s getting turned on by this, maybe even by me. I should back off, but I never know when to quit.
“You want to teach me some manners, Trent?” I purr, dipping my head a little. I know what I’m doing. Time for him to confront his own bullshit, if that’s what this is.
Trent blinks, stunned, and backs away, then slams his fist into my locker, denting it. With his knuckles. I try not to show fear, but that could have been my face.
“Stay the fuck away from Berlin,” he snarls. “And keep your smart fucking mouth shut, or I’ll do more than foul your ass on the court.”
He stalks away, huffing and puffing, while I contemplate this whole new layer of bullshit. If Trent’s wrestling with his own sexuality, it makes a lot more sense why he’s so ruthlessly vicious to me. Judging from what I know about that stinking football coach, I doubt Trent’s dad will be as accepting as Berlin’s.
Trent’s a powder keg and I’m the match. If Trent detonates, Berlin will get hurt.
The only way to diffuse this situation is to remove myself from the equation.
Berlin
HIRO’S IGNORING me. Monday night, the same day I picked him first in basketball, he didn’t answer my texts. Tuesday he said he was too busy with homework to talk. When I called him Wednesday, he was doing something with his mom. Thursday my practice went late, and he didn’t answer me at all that night, then said in the morning he fell asleep, which I didn’t believe for a second. Friday I see him at the football game, hanging out on the sidelines with one of the guys from his Digital Arts class.
Is he breaking up with me? I assumed we were together, but maybe he doesn’t see it that way. Did I do something to piss him off? The not knowing is tearing me up to the point that I’m off my game. I miss an easy handoff in the first quarter, and then a few minutes later, I trip over one of the other team’s players and fumble the ball. That type of thing never happens to me. At halftime Coach Cross is all over me about getting my head in the game and stop getting distracted by the cheerleaders. I wonder if he noticed me looking toward the sidelines. Trent is off as well. Whenever I try talking to him on the field, he cuts me off and tells me he has it under control. Third down with only twenty yards to go, I tell him to hand it off to me, but he throws a pass instead that goes wild. We end up having to kick a field goal.
“Fuck, Berlin, if you’d been a little more reliable, I’d have given it to you,” he says as we walk off the field.
We end up winning, but just barely, and it’s more thanks to our kicker than either me or Trent. Coach Cross reams us out because it should have been a slam dunk. After the game there’s a barbeque at one of the boosters’ houses, but all I want is to hang out with Hiro. I text him as I’m getting ready to leave the locker room.
“Hot date tonight?” Trent asks.
I put my phone away. “Maybe.” I grin, playing along.
“Who is she?”
I’m stuck. Anyone from school is obviously out, and I can’t name someone from church because we go to the same one. Our town is too small.
“Someone I met in Austin,” I say.
He looks at me with disbelief. “When were you in Austin?”
“A few weeks back. Went to check out a concert.”
“Which one?” he asks, like it’s completely crazy to do something on my own.
“Some country band called Texas Forever.” Now I’m just making shit up.
“I’ll look them up,” he says. “What’s her name?”
“Ashley,” I say, digging myself deeper, “but I don’t know if it’s going to work out. I think she likes to play games.”
“Don’t they all?” He slaps my back. His good mood is back. I exhale a sigh of relief.
My phone chimes. I pull it out to find a text from Hiro.
At dinner with a friend. Meet up with you after after.
He went to dinner with that redheaded kid? Is it like a date or something? That’s messed up. I didn’t call him my boyfriend or anything, but I thought it was understood. Whoever this kid is, he doesn’t have a problem hanging out with Hiro in front of everyone else. That’s what Hiro wants, to not have to sneak around all the time.
Damn.
“Don’t stress about it,” Trent says. I guess he saw my face. “Come out with us. Madison has a ton of slutty friends. They’ll take care of you.”
“All right. Sounds good,” I lie.
I go out with Trent and the guys, but I can’t eat much because my stomach is upset. I talk to the boosters about the game and keep Madison’s friends at bay, but all I can think about is Hiro out with someone else and the cold shoulder he’s been giving me all week. Is he bored with me already?
A little before eleven, I tell Trent and the guys I’m tired and heading home. Trent’s on his way to getting loaded—he must have spiked his soda, because there’s adults all around us—and he’s feeling sentimental, kind of hanging on me. He’s talking about this one time we were down at the Pac N Sac when we were eleven and found a stray dog wandering down the road. No tags or anything. She was a chocolate lab, sweet old girl. Probably a hunting dog that got too old to track game. Trent had always wanted a dog, but his dad wouldn’t allow it, so I took the dog home with me, got her cleaned up, and took her in to get her shots. Trent named her Cookie, and she was his dog from then on, just happened to live in our barn. Trent would come over all the time to visit, just lay in the hay and let her lick his face. She was an old dog when we found her. Bad hips. We had to put her down at the end of our freshmen year. Had a funeral for her and everything. Trent was pretty tore up about it.
“Aw, Cookie,” Trent says, tipping his cup to spill some of his drink on the yard in her name. “God, how I miss that dog.”
“Me too, buddy.” I pat his back, thinking how Cookie brought out a tenderness in Trent I haven’t seen since.
“Still can’t believe you kept her for me,” Trent says.
“She didn’t eat much.” That’s my dad’s rule of thumb around the farm. An animal can only stay if they don’t cause trouble or eat too much, even better if we can put it to work. Cookie was good at keeping the coons away from the chicken coops.
“This guy,” Trent says to the rest of our friends while pointing at me with his cup. “You’re my fucking Goose, Berlin.”
“I’m Maverick and you’re Goose,” I reply. It’s an ongoing feud.
“I don’t care, man, so long as you’ve got my back.” He pulls me into a hug, and I hug him back. Then I untangle myself and leave Trent in Madison’s capable hands.
I’m a little late arriving at the fence. I gave Hiro the code a while back. He’s already waiting for me in the grove of trees where he usually parks his bike. He sits with his knees bent, back against a tree trunk. The moonlight makes his skin glow. He gazes up at the trees and then, as I approach, at me.
Just the sight of him affects me in a way I can’t control. My blood flows faster, my skin tingles, my senses become more alert. My whole body feels raw when he’s around, even at school, but especially now, when we’re alone, when I know I can touch him, if he’ll let me.
“How was dinner?” I ask. I don’t mean to sound pissed, but that’s how it comes out.
“Delicious,” he says in a neutral tone. He’s like a vault sometimes. I’ll only get in if he lets me. I decide not to beat around the bush.
“You leaving me for a ginger, Hiro?”
He snorts and glances down at the ground. “No.”
I drop down next to him. I look forward to this all week long, the few hours I can be myself around him. I guess it means more to me than I even realized.
I tug at the end of his hair. “What’s playing on the Hiro channel tonight?” I want him here with me, not off in his own world, but if he is there, maybe I can join him.
He lets out a long sigh and draws his finger along the ground. “It’s a western, featuring a rugged, fair-haired sheriff and his deputy of undetermined race—that’s in order to get the ratings up among minorities.”
I smile. “Sounds good. Is the deputy a dark-haired beauty?”
“Some would say he was cast because he looks good in a pair of blue jeans, except he only wears black because he has a troubled past. I have to warn you, the writing’s a bit clichéd.”
I chuckle at the way he can make fun of himself. He’s so damn smart and creative. “I love dark horses. What’s the trouble in their town?”
“A band of bank robbers, naturally, except that before they all came out west, the sheriff and band of thieves fought in the war together.”
He means the football team. He’s still worried about them finding out about us. Is that why he’s been avoiding me all week? “Sounds like the sheriff’s loyalties will be tested. Where does the deputy fit in here?”
Hiro shakes his head slowly. “He doesn’t.”
I nudge him. I don’t like it when he talks like we’re on opposite sides of the fence. “Of course he does. The deputy is the mastermind behind the entire operation. The sheriff would be completely clueless without his brains. And lonely too, I’d bet.”
Hiro frowns and crunches a dried leaf in his fingertips, then blows it off his hand. “The deputy doesn’t want to be the stick of dynamite that blows the whole town to smithereens.”
I reach for his hand and try to draw him out of his own head. He worries too much. “Maybe that’s exactly what this town needs.”
He pulls away from me and caps his knees with his palms. “I have a really bad feeling about this, Berlin. I know when some shit’s about to go down. It’s a sixth sense of mine. We could walk away right now without any fallout.”
“There’d be plenty of fallout.” My heart, for one. Hiro’s the one true thing in my life. I don’t want to go back to pretending to be something I’m not. Being with Hiro gives me courage and purpose. “Did something happen with Trent?” He won’t meet my eyes. Maybe Trent said something or threatened him again. He’s holding back, probably for my sake. “You can tell me. Whatever it is.”
“Trent’s going to find out about us,” he says forcefully. “He’s going to tell everyone. You’re going to get kicked off the team, maybe even get your ass kicked. And it will be my fault. I don’t want to be responsible for that.”
I shake my head. He’s sprinting ahead again, leaving me in his dust. “It wouldn’t be your fault.”
“You might hate me by the time all this is over.”
“Never.”
I can tell he’s imagining every worst-case scenario. I’ll handle Trent and my team. I know the risks already, and Hiro is worth an ass-kicking. I pull him into my arms.
“You still like me?” I ask, burying my nose in his hair and breathing him in. He nods. “That’s all that matters to me. Forget about everything else. You’re good for me, and I think I’m good for you too.”
He relaxes against me, which tells me I’m winning the argument. I rub his back and nuzzle his neck. He smells so good.
“Just remember this moment,” he says softly. “Remember that I warned you.”
Hiroku
I SPEND the weekend working on my football video. Turns out all I need is the right music. Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony has exactly the right tempo and mood to keep up with the action of the game. I also mess with the speed and timing of the runs, slow down some of the best parts to really capture the football players’ athleticism, especially Berlin’s. This happens to me from time to time, where I kind of fall in love with my subjects. I even find myself feeling less hateful toward Trent. That’s the power of art; it makes me soft.
I send the link of the final cut to Berlin. His response is immediate.
So cool!!! You’re such a talented artist.
I smile because I like thinking of myself that way. When others say it too, it makes me feel like I’m not just making all this up in my head. Maybe I can make something of myself doing the kind of work I love.
We text for a little while longer, and I make the video public the same night. When I get to first period the next morning, my classmates all compliment me on it, Spencer especially. “I’ve never looked at football quite like that.” He waggles his eyebrows a little. I’m not sure if he means there are sexual overtones or what. If there are, it’s accidental. I really just want to highlight the beauty and grace of the game, slow it down a little to really appreciate it, maybe even subvert it a bit to give a fresh perspective, like I did with the cheerleading video.
“You liked it, though?” I ask him. “It was your footage too. I hope you’re okay with what I did with it.”
He squeezes my arm. “I loved it. You’re a mad genius, Hiroku.”
I’m feeling pretty good going into third period. As I’m changing in the locker rooms, one of the guys, Anderson, mentions the video to Trent, who hasn’t seen it. Anderson pulls it up on his phone. I take a deep breath, thinking maybe this is an opportunity to make peace with the bigot brigade. The video definitely shows Trent in a flattering light. I left out all the interceptions and wild passes. I still hate the guy, but for Berlin’s sake, I want the feuding to be over.
I finish dressing and turn around to put on my tennis shoes, keeping my head down so they don’t think I give a shit what they think.
“What the fuck is this?” Trent shouts. He still has Anderson’s phone in his hand. I can hear the music coming out of the phone’s shitty speakers, tinny and weak. “Who did this?” he roars. I glance up. What the hell is he so worked up about? I swear he must be on steroids to have so many raging hissy fits all the time.
Anderson nods in my direction and Trent steps to me. I stand up to face him, feeling a spike in my heart rate. “Take this shit down, Faggy,” he demands, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest to intimidate me. I feel like a wild animal when confronted by Trent—a powerful cocktail of adrenaline, hatred, and fear.
“Fuck no,” I say. “What the fuck is your problem now?”
“Take this shit down or else.” He raises one fist like that’s supposed to change my mind. He’s such a tiredass cliché.
“Why? Because I made it?” I’m truly confused.
He snarls. “Don’t play dumb with me. You made us look like faggots with the music and the ballerina shit.” His eyes narrow, daring me to say something. I’m not going to out him in front of his friends, for the same reason I didn’t break his throwing arm when I had the chance. Because even though I hate him, there are basic laws of human decency I live by, though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t abide by those same rules.
“You’re saying Beethoven is faggy music?” I say to him. “Jesus, are you inbred?”
“You know what you fucking did, you little shit.”
What the fuck ever. He can be a raging homophobe all he wants, but he’s on my turf now. “Listen, Trent, I don’t tell you how to throw interceptions, so don’t you tell me how to make videos. Fuck you and the rest of your bigot brigade. I’m not taking it down.”
His face screws up like a tantruming child, and he raises his fist higher, like he’s going to clobber me over the head with it, like Donkey Kong.
“No way I’m going to let you disrespect me in my house, you smart-mouthed son of a bitch.”
I’m so fucking sick of his bullshit. And I’m not going to back down from his threats. If he wants to kick my ass, then he can fucking do it. Spencer told me over dinner that Trent used to torment him too, and still does from time to time, that it only stopped when I came to Lowry. That’s one plus to me being the gay whipping boy of Lowry High School—it allows Trent to funnel all his hatred for himself at me. Whatever, I can take it.
“Just think, Trent, all those guys bent over wearing tight pants,” I say, “asses in the air, grunting, waiting for you to make the call. Maybe it’s football that’s faggy—”
T
rent takes a shot, but Berlin comes from out of nowhere and jumps between us, taking Trent’s fist in his shoulder. Berlin pushes Trent backward and spreads his arms wide, using his body to both block me in and shield me.
“Get the fuck out of the way, Webber,” Trent shouts. His rage reverberates throughout the locker room like a war cry. The other guys feel it too, shuffling around nervously. If we were alone and there were no witnesses or evidence, Trent would probably kill me.
“Get him out of here,” Berlin orders his teammates. I hear some scuffling and glance over Berlin’s shoulder to see them shoving Trent out of the locker room. A wall of flesh. His own linemen are using their blocking skills against him. Trent probably hates me even more for it.
Trent points his finger at me like it’s a gun. “You’re fucking dead, you little faggot.” Maybe I’ll be scared later, but in that moment, I want him to fucking try it.
My heart feels like it’s going about a million beats per minute as they leave. I could lift a car if I had to. Berlin is silent, shoulders heaving, hands clenching and unclenching.
“Was that necessary?” he finally asks.
Another wave of fury rolls through me, that those are his first words to me. I feel like punching Berlin, but I won’t.
“Are you saying that was my fault?” I hiss.
“No, I’m saying you didn’t have to rile him up like that.”
“Fuck, Berlin.” I push him away from me. “I don’t need your fucking protection. Go join your bros, maybe even get some gay-bashing in for good measure. I’m fucking done here.”
I stalk out of the locker room, ignoring his calls for me to come back and be reasonable. Jesus fucking Christ. Reasonable? There are no rules of engagement when it comes to Trent and his posse. The fight is rigged.
I am so fucking done with Lowry and its small-minded bullshit. Berlin is just as brainwashed as the rest of them. If he wasn’t gay himself, he’d probably be joining in their antics. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. The strong and the weak, the predator and the prey. It’s the reason I left Seth in the end, because I was so sick of him winning all the goddamned time.
The Bravest Thing Page 12