Tanner’s brow furrows. “Seriously? No, I haven’t heard about that. But let me see what I can come up with.” He resumes typing. “We still on for this afternoon?”
“Do you even have to ask?” Jackie piles her napkin on top of her barely touched lunch.
“Sweet,” Tanner replies. “I’ll be sure to have a full report by then.”
“Cool.” I take another bite of my apple.
“My money is on a secret, underground fight club,” Jackie jokes.
Tanner drives us back to his place after school in his SUV. He and Jackie spend the entire trip arguing about what movie we’re going to watch. I just stare out the window, trying to repress my building anxiety over the Chris situation.
I didn’t see him again after first period, and I’ve check my phone so often the battery is almost shot. I can’t explain why I’m so desperate for answers. It’s not like the situation is affecting me in any way. Chris isn’t even really my friend. At least, he wasn’t. After yesterday, I really don’t know where we stand.
“If I watch that fucking movie one more time,” Jackie seethes, “I’m going to gouge my own eyes out. I don’t care if Keanu Reeves is at peak hotness. It’s dumb.”
“It’s a modern-day masterpiece,” Tanner argues as we turn into his neighborhood. “Mike, we need you to be the tiebreaker.”
“What are the options again?” I ask.
“Are you serious?” Tanner eyes me through the rearview mirror. “Where are you today, man?”
“Don’t mind Mike,” Jackie tells him. “He’s been a zombie all day.”
“Your choices are a no-brainer. The incredible piece of art that is The Matrix,” he says, “or the two-and-a-half-hour snooze fest, The Great Gatsby.”
“Tough choice.” I drum my fingers together in a pensive gesture. “But seeing as we’ve watched The Matrix three times this month, I’m going to have to side with Jackie.”
“Yes!” Jackie pumps her fist. “In your face, you Neo-phyte. See what I did there?”
“Solid pun.”
“Shut up, traitor,” Tanner mutters. The car bounces as we pull into the driveway, garage doors opening with a touch of a button to welcome us.
After a quick raid of the refrigerator for soda and snacks, the three of us climb the stairs to Tanner’s bedroom. We don’t have to worry about spilling something on the super-expensive furniture in here, and his TV is just as big as the one in the living room.
Tanner reluctantly selects the movie on his DVR, plopping down in his computer chair.
The opening song begins to play, and I can’t contain myself anymore. “Did you happen to hear anything from the rumor pool about Chris?”
“Oh, yeah.” Tanner spins towards his desktop, waking it up with a click of the space bar. He types for a minute, then lets out a low whistle. “It ain’t pretty.”
“What?” I’m beside him before I realize it, looking over his shoulder.
“Tammy Richardson says she heard it was his dad,” Tanner says, scrolling through his Facebook messages.
They’re full of everyone’s secrets.
I wonder if they say anything about me?
“Pastor Myers?” Jackie asks from the floor, munching on a handful of popcorn. “Did he hit him?”
“There aren’t a lot of details,” Tanner says, skimming over the message. “But, apparently, it was a disagreement that went south.”
My fists are clenched at my side, I’m straining to hear over the ringing in my ears. His father did that to him? Just when I thought I couldn’t think lesser of the man. What kind of fucked up person would do that to their kid?
“Whoa, Mike. You’re freaking me out, man.” Tanner looks up through his thick frames, eyes wide.
I try to wipe off whatever expression is on my face. “Sorry.” I look away from him, sinking back down to the floor beside Jackie while her fingers dance across the screen of her phone. “That’s just really awful. What sick fuck would do that to their son?”
Jackie lets out a girlish giggle, and both of our heads turn to her.
“Huh?” She looks up at us. “What?”
“Who are you texting?” Tanner asks. The fact he doesn’t already know is miraculous.
“Brad.” She resumes texting.
“Wait,” I interject, thoughts of Chris fading for the moment. “Praise band Brad?”
“Back-of-the-bus-handjob Brad?” Tanner joins in.
“Yes, and yes.” Jackie smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know why this is a shock to you two. We’ve been talking for a while now. He’s taking me to dinner tomorrow night.”
“Isn’t he like, thirty?” Tanner lowers himself to our level from his chair, all three of us ignoring the movie playing. They mostly serve as background noise anyway.
“So, what if he is?” Jackie scoffs. “I always wanted a sugar daddy.”
“Tell that to the judge presiding over your statutory rape case.” Tanner grabs the popcorn bowl.
“He’s the same age as you, dipshit.” Jackie smacks his shoulder.
“What does your mom think about you dating?” I ask, knowing there’s no way she’s okay with this.
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“And Jackie enters the pregnancy race,” Tanner announces in his best sportscaster voice. “All right, Mike, what month do you want in the pool?”
“Put me down for December,” I joke, pulling out my wallet.
“Fuck you guys,” Jackie curses, but she smiles too.
Chris has been avoiding me like the plague for over a week now. Every time I get close to him, he bolts like he’s afraid I’m going to murder him or something. He even got Randall Josep to trade seats with him in Dr. Redford’s class. He is three rows behind me now, which means I can’t look at him without drawing attention to myself. So, I’m stuck smelling Randall’s disgusting mixture of BO and aftershave.
I give up even trying by Friday, resigning myself to pout into my plate at lunch. The usual suspects are here, and I really am trying not to be a Debbie-downer.
“Guess who I saw smoking in the second-floor bathrooms?” Tabby Freeman taunts Tanner from across the table.
Tabby’s practically a walking cesspool of gossip. I’m shocked she and Tanner aren’t married yet. They would be the nosiest neighbors on the fucking planet.
“Who?” He looks up from his laptop, a certain excitement in his eyes that only comes from secrets and source code.
“Chris Myers,” Tabby replies, tossing a strand of greasy, tawny hair out of her eyes.
My head snaps up at the mention of his name. I angle myself to hear them better.
“Huh.” Tanner grabs another tater tot from his tray, dragging it through a puddle of ketchup. “I didn’t even know he smoked. You hear that, Jackie? You two are practically soul mates. At least you’ll both die of lung cancer.”
“Shut your face,” quips Jackie, not even bothering to glance away from her phone. She’s more than likely sexting Brad.
“What were you doing in the boy’s restroom?” I ask Tabby, looking for a way to insert myself into the conversation.
“None of your business, Hernandez.” She snarls through yellowed teeth.
I wonder if she has actually cooked meth before, or if she just looks like she has.
“Well, you obviously weren’t observing any kind of dental hygiene.”
A few of the others around the table snicker, and Tabby cuts daggers at me with her eyes. I couldn’t care less. Even if I wasn’t Kinsey-6 gay, I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.
“Watch it, queerbait.” Tabby seethes.
My blood runs cold, even though I know she doesn’t actually mean it. I would know if someone was spreading rumors about me. It’s the unspoken agreement I have with Tanner.
I roll my eyes, rising to my feet. Hopefully my terrible poker face hasn’t given me away.
“Swhere hue goin’?” Tanner asks, through his ha
lf-chewed potatoes.
“I have to finish up a quiz for Geometry,” I lie, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll see you guys this afternoon.”
Time to flee Tabby’s putrid breath and the mention of my queerness as quickly as I can. I dump my tray in the trash, almost crashing through the door.
That wasn’t funny, Big Guy. I swear, if I get outed by Tabby fucking Freeman, I’m going to just end it all right here and now.
My body is on autopilot as I move into the hallways. I don’t realize where I’m heading until I’m almost there.
The second floor is quiet since most of the students are in the cafeteria right now. I push open the men’s room door, the stale smell of tobacco hitting me like a wall. There are three stalls, but only one of them has the door closed. I knock on it, waiting for a response.
“Chris?”
No answer.
“I know it’s you in there,” I say. “Tabby ratted you out. Hey, you didn’t let her blow you, did you? Because I would definitely go get that checked out. I mean there has to be at least four STD’s rolling around that disgusting mouth of hers.”
Still nothing verbal, but I hear the sharp intake of air from his laugh.
“Look, I just want to talk.” My head is starting to get light from all the smoke. “Can you come out of there?”
A pair of feet hit the ground, shuffling coming next. The door swings open.
“You’re persistent.” Chris’s voice is gruff.
“It’s one of my better qualities,” I joke, but the smile fades when I get a good look at him. It’s the first time I’ve really been able to since he isn’t running away from me.
His eyes are bloodshot, the dark bruise under his eye shining purple. His lip is scabbed over, and a cigarette hangs off it.
“What do you want, Mike?” he demands, pulling the filter away from his mouth as he exhales a cloud of white in my face.
I wave it away with my hand. “Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not,” he says.
I can’t look away from the shiner. It fills me with rage.
“Bullshit,” I snap. “Look, if you don’t want me here, then just tell me. I don’t care, but I deserve more than a cold shoulder.”
The edges of Chris’s lips curl into a smile. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“Fuck you.” I punch his shoulder, but I can’t keep my own smile from escaping. “Seriously, Chris, what the hell is going on? You stressed me out with that text, and then you show up to school like you’ve been in fight club. There’s a pool going around about that actually. And then you just drop off the radar?”
“Right.” Chris scoffs. “Like I don’t know what people are saying about me. Everyone thinks my dad beat the shit out of me because of one thing or another.”
Wait, his dad didn’t do this to him?
“Then what did happen?” I press. “Set the record straight.”
Chris drops the cigarette to the floor, stepping on it to snuff the fire. “It’s my own stupid fault,” he says, staring at the smear of ash on the tile. “I was just so pissed at him. He didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice wavers, bottom lip trembling.
My anger melts faster than a snow cone in Phoenix. “H-hey.” I grab his shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay, man. You don’t have to tell me.”
He shakes his head, wiping the tears from his eyes with a half-hearted laugh. “If only he saw me now. He’d have a few choice words for me. ‘Suck it up,’ or maybe, ‘I didn’t raise a pussy.’ Those are classics.”
And the anger is back in a flash. It radiates through me, setting my blood of fire. “I hate him.”
“You don’t even know him,” Chris says, brushing my hand off.
“I know enough.” I spit the words. “He’s a homophobic piece of sh—”
Pain explodes in my cheek as Chris’s palm slaps me across the face.
“Shut up.” He seethes.
“Why are you defending him?” Heat radiates from my face, whether from the impact or my own emotions, I can’t tell. “He hit you, Chris. He thinks you and I are abominations who should be rounded up and stuck in a cage. Or did you forget that little gem from his sermon last month? Because I sure haven’t!”
Chris recoils as if I’ve returned his blow.
“That one really stuck with me,” I continue, anger-fueled words spewing. “I took a lot of really good notes. My parents loved it. They wouldn’t stop talking about it at lunch. I just sat there quietly, wishing I was anything other than gay. And don’t even get me started on a few weeks ago when your dad enlightened me to the fact that, apparently, I’m a pedophile. I had no idea but, thank God, he was there to set me straight.”
“Stop,” Chris whimpers. “Please, just stop.”
“Why? I’m just telling the truth.” I keep on, turning away from him. “This isn’t something I’m making up. Although, I wish it was. He said these horrible things. So, why are you defending him?”
“Because he’s my dad,” Chris whispers.
And, once again, the flames of my anger are smothered. I watch him blot away the tears from his cheeks. He’s a mess, and I’m being a jackass.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“It’s not like I don’t know he’s terrible,” he replies, sniffling. “I sit through the same services you do. I live with the man. Can you imagine how much I hear from him? He’s my father, and I know, deep down, how much he hates me. Maybe he doesn’t know it yet, but he hates me, Mike. His only child.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just stand here, arms crossed and silent.
Is this funny to You up there, Big Guy? Because we aren’t laughing.
“I…I took a swing at him that night. The night I sent you that text. I mean, I was on cloud nine. We’d had such a great time, and I’d finally gotten up the courage to get my ear pierced. Then, I get home, and he’s ranting about a story he saw on the news. Apparently, a friend of his from seminary is getting threatened with legal action because he refused to perform a wedding ceremony for a same-sex couple in Nashville.”
Dad mentioned something about it at dinner last week. He called the guy courageous. I just smiled and stuffed my mouth with potato salad.
“He just kept going on about how gays were destroying the foundation of the country and nothing was sacred anymore. Naturally, I played the Devil’s advocate and tried to defend some couple I’d never even met before, and things got out of hand pretty quick.”
He leans over, propping himself on the wall of the stall. “I don’t even remember what he said that set me off. I flaunted my earring and he lost his shit and started shouting. It was so bad my mom tried to step in, but Dad told her to leave the room. She was in tears the whole time.
“And after our shouting match, I took a swing at him. He caught me by the wrist and pushed me back. That’s when I hit the bookcase, and his stupid wrought-iron globe fell from the top shelf.” He pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, showing the long purple spot on his forearm. “My arm took most of the hit, but not all of it.” He raises his arm in front of his face, so I can see the outline of the bar that hit him.
So, his dad didn’t do it after all. At least not on purpose. That doesn’t mean I don’t still hate his fucking guts.
“As you can imagine, that kind of killed the argument.” Chris pulls his sleeve back in place. “He was so mortified, he just kept asking if I was all right. I kicked him off me and locked myself in my room. I couldn’t even think straight. So, I took out a bottle of whiskey I stole from my uncle’s liquor cabinet over the summer and drank the whole thing. Ugh, just thinking about it makes me queasy. That was not a fun night.”
That’s when he texted me.
“Did you…?” I can’t bring myself to say it.
“No,” Chris says quietly. “But I can’t say I didn’t think about it. Look, I’m sorry I sent you that message. I wasn’t exactly doing so hot, and it wa
s fueled by far too much alcohol.”
“I didn’t know what to think,” I reply, “and when I saw you at school, I got so worried.”
“Yeah?” Chris lifts his head, the ghost of a smile playing across his face. “You were worried about me?”
“Of course, I was.” I shuffle my feet. “You’re my friend, and you were obviously in pain.”
“So, we’re friends?”
“Dude, seriously?” I unfold my arms. “Yes, you are my friend. Maybe more so than anyone. You know the most about me at least.”
This makes him smile. Not a halfhearted one, but a genuine, let’s-see-those-pearly-whites smile. My heart feels lighter just seeing it.
“Good,” he says, tossing his bangs out of his eyes.
“So, can you please stop avoiding me?” I step closer to him. “Because it’s getting really fucking annoying.”
He nods his head, sniffling one last time.
“Look, I have swim practice after school today. But do you want to hang when I’m done? I’m totally free.”
“Sure.” Chris clears his throat. “Thanks, Mike.”
“Don’t mention it.”
With the blow of a whistle, I dive into the pool. Bursting through the surface, my arms and legs move in unison to propel me toward the other end.
Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe.
I let myself fall into a familiar rhythm, pausing it only once I reach the wall of the pool. I summersault and push off the rough cement.
When I haul myself out of the water, Coach Schmidt is waiting for me.
“Still running behind,” he tells me, writing down my time on his red clipboard. “Are you focusing?”
“As much as I can,” I admit, lifting the goggles from my eyes and grabbing a towel.
“We might be in trouble then,” Coach mutters. “Look, Michael, you’ll never place if you keep this pace. I can’t keep babysitting you here. You have to want it for yourself.”
I nod. My current concerns are far from laps times and trophies.
“Go ahead and hit the showers,” he says, running a hand through his patchy black hair. “I don’t think it’s gonna get any better for you today.”
There Goes Sunday School Page 13