There Goes Sunday School

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  “Yes, sir.” It’s tough to hide my excitement, so I wrap my towel around my neck and dash for the locker room. Fresh towel in hand from the stack in the corner, I head for the showers.

  The novelty of being in a place where I get to see a bunch of mostly naked boys walk around has worn off somewhat in the past few months. Maybe it’s due to the fact I’ve grown more comfortable in my skin, or more likely, it’s because I’ve found a porn site I actually enjoy. But now, I’ve seen it all, and the monotony of topless guys in towels has lost its effect on me.

  However, there’s something to be said about these private school showers. Everyone gets their own stall, and it offers far more privacy than traditional ones, at least so I hear. They’re perfect for concealing the boner of a closeted sixteen-year-old.

  I pull the curtain back, stepping into the warm spray of water. Someone hums in the stall next to mine, and it sounds like a Coldplay song I like. I fight the urge to join in.

  Once the chlorine is out of my hair, the shower shuts off with a twist of the knob. I reach for my towel on the other side of the curtain but come up empty. My heart starts to race. I pull back the curtain, squinting into the steamy tiled room. My gym bag sits across the room, mocking me. My towel is beside it.

  Fuck.

  My cheeks burn as I weigh my options.

  God, please don’t let anyone walk in.

  I can’t stay in here forever, so I gather my courage. After I carefully cup my goodies, I step gingerly from the shower and into the cold air. I throw another glace left and right, making sure no one is walking around the corner. The coast is clear, so I make a mad dash for the towel.

  “Whoa!”

  I spin toward the voice, pulling the white cloth in front of me. “What the fuck?”

  Chris stands by the entrance of the showers, hand covering his face as he sputters.

  “S-sorry!”

  I quickly wrap the fluffy towel around me. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, head whipping back and forth. The other shower is still going, so hopefully no one can hear us.

  “Figured I would come watch you practice.” He brushes a piece of his hair out of his face, his other hand still concealing his eyes. “But the coach said you were in here. I didn’t think— I’m just gonna go now.”

  “I’ll be dressed in a few,” I offer, trying to recover from the horribly awkward exchange.

  “R-right. I’ll just wait in the car.”

  Good grief. What a day.

  I run a hand through my hair as Chris leaves, and then I pull my cell phone out of my gym bag. I need to avoid another parental freak out, so I send Dad a text message.

  Hey, I’m helping Chris Myers with his project again. I’ll be home before 9. Love you. 4:36pm

  He probably won’t reply, but at least I’ll have evidence I attempted communication.

  The room falls quiet, and I realize the humming has stopped. I grab my stuff, making for the exit, but a voice catches me.

  “Hey, Mike.”

  Davy steps out of the shower, his own towel wrapped snugly around his waist.

  Davy is one of my teammates, Master of the Butterfly. He’s a year younger than me, but you’d never know it by looking at him. I have to remind myself not to stare at his body as he comes closer, blond hair slicked back.

  “What’s up, Davy?” I say, cringing as my voice cracks. “How was your time today?”

  “Eh.” He shrugs his shoulder, tanned skin pulling taught as his muscles move.

  They’re hypnotic.

  “Schmidt-head isn’t happy, but I shaved a second off today. Hopefully, it’ll get me to state this year.”

  “That would be awesome.” I tear my eyes from his perfect pectorals. “I totally think you’ll get there.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  He smiles, and my knees go a little weak.

  “Was that Chris Myers I heard you talking to?”

  “Huh?”

  “I thought I recognized his voice,” Davy continues, sauntering over the bench. “He’s in my literature class. I got advanced placement for some reason, but he’s wicked smart. We got paired up for a writing project, and I couldn’t be more glad. I suck at that kind of stuff, but he’s insanely good.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I breathe my relief. “That was him. He’s going to help me with an essay.”

  “You two sound pretty chummy.”

  Something behind his voice makes my stomach squirm. What does he know?

  “Y-yeah,” I stammer, “we know each other from church. So, you could say that.”

  Without a warning, Davy loosens his towel and pulls it off. He throws it over his head, tousling it back and forth.

  Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

  “Gotcha,” he says, removing the hood. “Well, you guys have fun with that.” He tosses his towel aside, and I swear he winks at me.

  Wait. Did that just happen, or did I imagine it?

  “T-thanks.” I take a few steps back. “Well, he’s waiting on me.”

  “Tell him I said not to work too hard.” Davy smiles again.

  I have to leave right now before I consider doing something I regret.

  After I dress, I practically run out of the locker room. Before long, I’m at Chris’s car.

  “What’s got you so worked up?” he asks as I hurl myself into the passenger seat.

  “Don’t ask.”

  “Does this make me look fat?”

  Chris pulls back the curtain separating us, the sparkling spandex suit looking like a twinkling nightmare. His dark hair is pushed back with a matching sequin headband.

  “I don’t think fat is the word I would use.” I laugh as he strikes a pose in the mirror.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I drag myself away from Chris’s fashion show. It’s a text from Tanner.

  I thought you were coming over after practice? Jackie is making me watch a terrible Hillary Duff movie, and no one was here to vote her down. 5:43pm

  Shit. I forgot to call him. I blame it on my conversation with a naked Davy. That practically left my brain melted. I type back a response.

  Sorry, man. I had something come up. I’ll see you guys at church Sunday. 5:44pm

  “Are you going to try yours on?”

  Chris holds up an identical jumpsuit, sequins and all.

  “No way in Hell that will ever be on my body.”

  “Fine, crush my dreams why don’t you?” Chris laughs, sliding the curtain closed. “Hey,” he calls through the divide, “I’m glad we could do this.”

  “Me too,” I reply as I eye the wall of colorful belts hanging to my right. He dragged me to this weird clothing shop in Little Fives. The place is packed with rack after rack of dated clothes. Mom would have a field day here. She would never leave.

  “Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?” Chris asks.

  “What, no dandelion tea?”

  “Not today.” He laughs. The curtain draws open, and he hangs the jumpsuit on the rack outside the dressing room. “There’s this great place just a few doors down.”

  “Sounds awesome,” I agree, following him to the counter.

  “You getting anything?” he asks, handing his own purchases over to the cashier. The guy is really cute, but he’s wearing a fedora which is an immediate no thank you.

  “Nah,” I reply. “I’m more a hoodie and jeans kind of guy.”

  “Yeah, I can tell.” Chris laughs.

  After he pays for his three bracelets and a bright orange belt, we leave the cramped store. I take in a breath of fresh-ish air, shaking the musty smell of old clothes from my head.

  “This way.” Chris moves down the sidewalk, swinging his new purchases over his shoulder. He stops after a second, digging for the change from his pocket. He stoops down to the man I didn’t even notice before. “Thought that was you. You doing okay, Sal?”

  “Christian, my main man.” The dark-skinned guy smiles a toothless grin. “How you doin’?”

 
Christian? Why did I always assume Chris was short for Christopher?

  “Can’t complain.” Chris returns the smile, giving the obviously homeless man a fist bump. “Where are you staying nowadays?”

  “The mission up on Ivan Allen,” Sal replies. “They’re giving me a job next week in one of the shops.”

  “That’s great!” Chris exclaims. “I hope it works out for you, Sal.”

  “Thanking ya.”

  “Hey, Sal, this is my friend Mike.” Chris gestures to me.

  I shuffle forward awkwardly to shake the man’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, Sal’s potent body odor hitting my nose. I make an effort to keep my face from wrinkling.

  “Likewise,” Sal responds, looking back to Chris. “You been scrapping?”

  Chris chuckles. “Something like that. You should see the other guy.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Sal raises his fists to eye level. “Gotta keep that pretty mug protected.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.” Chris laughs, straightening. “We gotta get going, but you take it easy, Sal.”

  “Sure thing.” He chuckles. “Tell your pops I said thanks for his help a couple weeks ago.”

  “You got it,” Chris says.

  We keep moving down the sidewalk, and I wave back to Sal.

  The more I time I spend with Chris, the more he surprises me.

  We pass Junkman’s Daughter and enter the last shop on the strip, Aurora Coffee. The wonderful aroma wipes away all my cares.

  I need coffee like I need air.

  We step up to the counter, and I peruse the chalkboard menus. The menu is smack full of options, and I don’t know what half of them mean. I fucking love coffee shops.

  “How’s it going, guys?” the barista asks. He’s young, tattooed, and beautiful. Why is everyone around here so fucking hot?

  “Great,” Chris says. “I’ll have a Brown Bear, please.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “It’s iced coffee with chocolate milk,” Chris replies.

  “Ditto for me,” I tell the barista, digging for my wallet.

  “I got it.” Chris pulls out his debit card, swiping it on the terminal.

  “Thanks.”

  We take a seat as our drinks are being made. The wall behind Chris is painted with snow-capped mountains and clouds. There’s some kind of bird painted there too, but a television screen covers where its head is supposed to be. It’s a metaphor for something, I’m sure.

  “I love all the art around here,” I say, marveling at the blending colors of the feathers. “They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “That’s for sure.” Chris chuckles, scooting out of his seat to go grab our glasses from the bar. He returns a second later, setting them down on the table. They’re a rich chocolaty color with a layer of white bubbles on top.

  I take a sip, and it’s pure heaven.

  “How do you know that guy outside?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.

  “Sal?” Chris sips his own drink, pausing before he speaks again. “My dad used to help out a shelter downtown. We’d come down every Saturday to serve meals or whatever they needed us to do. Dad met Sal before that though. He’s been here for decades.”

  “That’s really cool of you guys.” I guess it shouldn’t surprise me to hear about Pastor Myers doing charitable work. I mean the guy is a pastor for crying out loud. But it doesn’t change my picture of him.

  “I used to hate it.” Chris shrugs. “But I guess, as I got older, I started to gain some perspective. There were kids around my age, and one day, it just finally clicked. I thought, ‘This could be me. I’m no different than any of them.’ And after that, it was different. I just want to help them with what I can.”

  Whoa. That wasn’t what I was expecting at all.

  “Sorry.” Chris looks down at his hands. “I’m not trying to brag or anything.” He swirls his cup. “Let’s change the subject.”

  “I didn’t think you were,” I assure him.

  His face flushes with color, and he won’t meet my gaze.

  “Do you know Davy from school?”

  That grabs his attention. “Davy Daniels?”

  I nod, trying not to dwell on flashes of his naked body from earlier.

  “Yeah.” He leans his elbows on the wooden tabletop. “He’s in my lit class. Why do you ask?”

  “I ran into him in the shower after you left,” I tell him. “I think he suspects something is going on between us.”

  “Is there something going on between us?” Chris’s signature smirk is back.

  I roll my eyes. “He insinuated there was.” I laugh. “And then he dropped his towel and gave me a wink.”

  “No shit!” Chris leans forward even more. “What did you do?”

  “I covered my eyes and ran away,” I confess. “No way I was going to stand there and have a conversation with him with his dick out.”

  “Aw….” Chris sits back in his seat. “I was hoping for something a little steamier.”

  “Jeez, P.K.” I tease. “So scandalous. Sorry to be such a disappointment.”

  “He’s been giving off some pretty strong vibes in class.” He slides his cup across the table, passing it back and forth between hands. “But I was almost certain it was wishful thinking on my part.”

  “It was shocking to say the least.” I laugh.

  “Then are the rumors about him true?” Chris raises an eyebrow.

  Heat radiates from my face as I nod my head. “I can verify it is indeed true. No padding. Just au naturel.”

  “Jesus,” breathes Chris. “And he’s my partner for Stephens’s joint essay assignment. Now, I’m going to be too distracted to work.”

  We both laugh, and it feels natural.

  It’s strange. I’ve spent a collective two afternoons with Chris, and it feels like we’ve known each other forever. Could it be I have nothing to hide? Nothing I’m afraid will give me away. There’s only Chris, me, and the freedom to say what I’m thinking.

  I could get used to this.

  “Hey, Chris.” I wipe a laughter-fueled tear from my eye. “Are you coming to Jackie’s birthday party tomorrow?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.” He sips his drink.

  “You should,” I continue. “I need a ride anyway.”

  “Okay.” He nods, “Sure. That sounds like fun.”

  “Sweet. It’s a date.”

  It’s a date.

  I lay awake in my bed, those stupid words playing over and over in my head.

  Why did I say that? It’s not like I really meant it. It doesn’t change the fact neither Chris nor I will behave any differently at the party. We’ll be the same closet cases we’ve always been. So why did I ask?

  I reach for my bag from the drawing desk, pulling out my sketchpad. I’m never going to fall asleep, so I might as well do something. Flipping to a blank page, I make lines as my mind continues to wander. The constant motion helps me think.

  Chris smiled ever so slightly when I asked him. Did that mean something? Did he want it to be a date? Does he like me that way? Do I like him that way? And why the fuck does this even matter? It’s not like I’m able to have a boyfriend. The same goes for him.

  I don’t think I have the mental fortitude to keep a relationship a secret. I would be a nervous wreck, like, all the time. More so than usual, that is.

  Maybe I should tell Jackie. She would totally help me keep it a secret if Chris and I started to see each other in a more intimate way. At least, I think she would. But I’ve already been over this. That involves her knowing everything, and sooner or later, the truth would get out.

  I look down at the page, smeared lines forming the shape of a figure seated at a table, a large painted bird on the wall behind him. Shaggy hair and smirk.

  Fuck.

  I flip the book closed, taking a steadying breath as I face the hard truth. I can’t stop thinking about Chris.

  “So, h
ow’s this going to go?” Chris asks as we pull into Jackie’s driveway. Her grandparents own a couple of acres west of Roswell, near the Clary lakes. Their driveway takes a good two minutes to drive down to get to the house. I used to think these woods went on for miles when Jackie and I would play in them.

  She and her mom, Melissa, live here with her grandparents. They have her entire life. Melissa is the youngest of her siblings, and she had Jackie when she was sixteen. Mr. and Mrs. Stephenson are awesome, and I consider them to be like my own grandparents.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, as we wind down the curvy path, thick woods on either side of the car.

  “I mean, like, do you want me to talk to you while we’re here? Or should I like, avoid you.”

  “Why would you avoid me?” I ask. “That’s stupid. Talk to me like a normal person. Just keep it straight. No bent comments.”

  “Roger that,” Chris replies, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel.

  “Dude,” I say as I place my hand on his knee, “you need to calm down. Just relax and have a good time.”

  “Kind of hard to think about relaxing with your hand there.”

  “That’s your last gay comment for the night,” I tell him, and he laughs as we pull into the grass beside Tanner’s SUV. “All right, let’s do this.”

  I grab Jackie’s gift from the backseat. Mom’s wrapping job is flawless as always. I swear, she’s the only person I’ve ever seen use a protractor to make sure her folds are at just the right angle. It takes a special kind of woman to be that anal-retentive.

  We walk to the front door, and I let myself in.

  Laughter comes from the living room to our left, and I quickly drop my gift on the dining room table. Nana Stephenson sees me from the kitchen and hustles to greet me. She wraps me up in a bone-crushing hug.

  “It’s been too long, Michael!”

  “It’s good to see you, Nana.” I manage to croak through her grip. She’s a large woman with silver hair and a pair of half-moon glasses usually hanging from her neck. She wears one of her signature outfits which always include some kind of bedazzled design on the front of them. Today’s are brightly colored balloons. They dig into my skin as she squeezes me.