Growing Pains

by Cass Lennox

“Oh yeah?” Toby gulped.

  “Yeah.” Brock came forward another step. “I, um, saw you looking at me during rehearsal one day.”

  Toby’s heart stopped. “What?”

  Brock smiled uncertainly. “Last year. Hedda Gabler.”

  Toby remembered the very rehearsal. Brock had been helping put up the set and had been sweating through his shirt from hauling shit around. Like Toby could’ve not perved. Most of the girls on set had. Brock was so freaking hot.

  “Really?” His voice was breathy. Shit, he sounded so girly.

  “Yeah. And I’ve been thinking about that. About you. And I noticed you kept watching me. So I thought . . . I wondered maybe . . .” His eyes were flickering between the floor, his hands, and Toby’s gaze. He reached out and touched Toby’s hand.

  Omigod.

  Toby swallowed. They stared at each other before Brock quickly leaned in and kissed him.

  Omigod.

  Toby didn’t even have time to close his eyes before Brock stepped back. His face was red, eyes wide.

  “Is this a joke?” Toby’s voice went hoarse.

  “No,” Brock said quickly. “Swear on my life it isn’t.”

  Toby glanced around. No one seemed to be nearby—the coast was clear.

  “I promise.” Brock’s hand dragged at his hair. “I, uh, I’ve been meaning to do that for a while. Waited until a quiet rehearsal so we could be alone.”

  “Seriously?” Toby’s heart was doing flip-flops in his chest. His face was warm, and his dick seemed about as stunned as his brain, but he could feel it starting to clue in to events.

  “Yeah.”

  Moments like this demanded a line. Something amazing and suave. Toby couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “Could you do that again?” came out of his mouth, and he felt his face go even warmer.

  Brock’s smile turned Toby’s chest inside out. “Yeah.” He stepped forward and kissed him again.

  Toby closed his eyes and let his senses go into overdrive.

  Holy shit.

  This was amazing. Like, this was better than anything he’d imagined, and Toby had imagined a lot.

  Brock’s lips were dry but soft. He smelled like sweat and lamp dust and it was the sexiest thing ever. Brock’s hand cupped Toby’s cheek, and maybe it was Toby’s stupid daydreams or his complete lack of experience, but this felt perfect. A feeling of sheer right tingled through him all the way to his toes. His hands somehow made their way to Brock and gripped his shirt, and even that felt wonderful.

  Brock stepped closer, his breath huffing gently across Toby’s face. Toby jerked as their groins brushed each other, breaking the kiss. He stared at Brock, shocked and so fucking turned on his mind played static.

  Our dicks touched. My dick. His dick. Holy shit, he has a dick and he’s hard. Omigod, Toby, of fucking course he’s got a—

  “Brock? You backstage?” Tina called from behind the curtain.

  Her voice was like an icy bucket of water. Toby blinked and Brock backed up. Toby waited to see what he would do, what he would say, eyeing him until Brock turned to the side. “Back here,” he called.

  Toby tried to speak, but no words were coming out. Words were unnecessary, right? First kiss. First kiss. With Brock Stubbs.

  Wait, wait, did this mean Brock was gay too? It totally meant Brock was gay too. Or bi. At least queer. Hell yeah. Toby wished there was someone he could thank for this glorious bounty he’d just received. His little heart diva was singing a fucking aria.

  “I, uh, I guess I’ll . . . um . . .” Brock seemed at a loss too.

  Tina jerked aside a nearby curtain and smiled at them. “Hey, Toby! You chewing Brock out for keeping that spotlight so bright?”

  Toby forced a smile. “Something like that.”

  “He totally did.” She whacked Brock’s shoulder lightly, making Brock wince. “Juniors. Think they know it all.”

  “Hey, what gives?” Brock joked, pulling his shoulder away from her.

  Toby hoisted his bag back onto his shoulder. “I gotta run. I’ll see you two tomorrow.” He moved past them, careful not to brush against Brock in case that somehow released gay rainbows into the air and told Tina they’d been making out and that their dicks had touched.

  “See you!” Tina called after him.

  Toby rushed out of the auditorium and to the school parking lot where his dad waited like normal. This was their routine after he’d been jumped after school a few years ago, but today he didn’t register the usual annoyance he felt at still having to be picked up. Today he barely registered the ground.

  Best day ever.

  The next day was a busier rehearsal, and Toby tried his best not to get his hopes up. That morning he’d woken up after a particularly bad dream and remembered that this was still his hick school. It might’ve been a prank. A really horrible prank. Or it was just a magical limited-time-offer-only experience. Brock would wake up and realize this was a mistake, he was just curious, and only wanted to experiment with the one out gay kid. He wasn’t serious.

  No way could a guy that hot be seriously into a guy like Toby.

  But for once Toby’s paranoia was wrong, and he was cornered by Brock after the rehearsal again. They hid themselves behind the blackout curtain and made out for what felt like hours. It happened again after the next rehearsal, behind unused scenery and with full-body contact this time. When it kept happening, Toby had to tell his dad that rehearsals were running longer so they didn’t have to leave right away, then he revelled in the sweet planetary alignment that allowed Toby to finally get some action.

  After a few weeks of making out and increasingly bold groping, Toby started thinking that maybe this was a Thing. He wasn’t sure what kind of Thing, but it wasn’t nothing. They’d felt each other up and panted curse words into each other’s shoulders, given hidden handjobs and hickeys while other cast members tromped around packing away props. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but something about the way they were so aware of each other, the way they read each other, was totally beyond the physical stuff. True, Brock didn’t acknowledge him if they passed each other in the hallways, and if anyone was hanging around after rehearsal, their sessions were always way shorter, and Brock always left first, but Toby wasn’t going to complain. Not when the alternative was not kissing him at all.

  So, to find out if he was the only one thinking this might be a Thing, he needed to ask the guy. They’d held whispered conversations about the play and random shit like Zelda and anime and hockey, but they’d both skirted the topic of what this was between them. After one particularly hectic rehearsal Toby hung out near the blackout curtain like usual and gave Brock a small smile when he walked into view.

  Brock quirked an eyebrow when he didn’t burrow into a dark corner straight away. “What’s up, Toby?”

  “You know what,” Toby said instantly, then grinned.

  Brock ducked his head, blushing. He glanced around, then moved closer. “You okay?”

  Toby nodded. He drank in the sight of Brock—his lean, ropey body, his arms in that tight shirt, his curly hair—then took a deep breath. “I was wondering what this is.”

  “This?”

  Toby gestured between them. “This. What we’re doing.”

  Brock ran his fingers through his hair. Toby reached forward and took his hand. The guy would be bald before forty if he kept that up. Brock snatched it away, and Toby understood, he really did, but he couldn’t help feeling a little hurt.

  “We’re, uh, we’re just messing around, right?” Brock said a little breathlessly.

  Messing around.

  Um. Okay. That wasn’t . . . It was realistic though. Still pretty good. And like Toby was an awesome catch? Please. Even he wasn’t that delusional.

  Toby slowly nodded. “Okay.” He could work with messing around. He had less than a year left before graduation anyway. Only, his stomach hurt a little bit at the thought of leaving this school while Brock was still here, and he didn’t think it wa
s due to the Mars bar he’d inhaled in his nervousness before meeting Brock today.

  “Cuz, I mean, I’m not . . .” Brock glanced around again, then whispered, “gay.”

  His stomach turned.

  Come again?

  “Huh?” he managed.

  Brock frowned. “I’m not, man. I just, I dunno, I like you. You’re like an, an exception or something.”

  “Liking another guy is pretty gay,” Toby said. “Kissing another guy is gay. So’s pinching another guy’s nipple while he gives you a hand—”

  “Shhh!” Brock rushed up to him, hand held out as if to keep him quiet. Toby had images of Brock covering his mouth while jerking him off and his knees went a little wobbly.

  Focus, Toby.

  “I get it,” Brock whispered urgently, “but I’m not, all right?”

  His knees straightened. “Whatever.”

  He felt disappointed, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t be out in Maney either. So what if it wasn’t a Thing? The hot guy wanted to mess around. That meant more kissing and handjobs, which was a total win-win. Maybe they’d even get around to blowjobs if they could go somewhere more private. Like his bedroom. Omigod, that’s an awesome idea.

  Okay, maybe not his room straight away, but Toby could work them up to meeting outside the auditorium and sort of pretend they were boyfriends, right? Even though he’d probably graduate before that ever happened, he could at least try. And had he just thought the word boyfriends? With total seriousness?

  He had to lighten up. He was leaving Maney next year. Messing around was good. Good.

  “You want to stop doing this?” Brock asked. He looked disappointed too. Uncertain. His brown eyes were doing that cute worried-frown thing they did. Toby loved that look. It meant Brock would let him push things a little.

  “No,” he said, honestly.

  Brock’s face lit up. “Good. I don’t either.”

  Toby moved forward and rested the palm of his hand on Brock’s chest. Brock leaned in and pressed his lips against Toby’s, which, mmm—

  “The fuck?”

  Toby froze. They both looked over. There stood Aditya, with Josh Rogers.

  Josh Rogers, baby brother of Turk Rogers. The Turk Rogers who’d outed Toby and made his life hell since middle school.

  Josh Rogers, who Toby just remembered was also kind of friends with Brock.

  Josh Rogers, clenching his fists, scowling, and looming like he was ready to punch something. Toby swallowed. Or someone.

  Brock shoved Toby.

  He stumbled back. Huh?

  Brock was glaring at him. What the flying hell?

  “What the fuck is this?” Josh demanded. Loudly. Like, totally unnecessary loudly. “Is this fag coming on to you, man?”

  Um, excuse him? They’d both been caught.

  “Don’t worry.” Brock stepped back, eyes on a point somewhere beyond Toby’s shoulder. “I can handle him.”

  What?

  Josh went to Brock’s side. “You okay, bro?” Adi frowned, and Josh pointed a stubby finger straight at Toby. “Leave him alone, you fat fuck. This might be the fucking theatre, but they’re not all fags.”

  Oh. Oh, now he got it. They hadn’t caught them together. They’d caught him hitting on Brock.

  The realization made him go cold.

  Oh, fuck. He’d been so stupid.

  Toby looked at Brock. He’d gone stone-faced, his arms crossed, eyes on the floor. Where was the smiley guy who’d been so nervous about kissing him?

  “Are you for fucking real?” He hated how his voice cracked just a little at the end.

  Josh started at him, but Brock and Adi grabbed his arms.

  “No, Josh,” Adi cautioned. “Don’t—”

  “If I see you anywhere near this guy again,” Josh bellowed, “or if I see you pull this homo bullshit again with anyone, I’m getting my brother back into town and we’ll pay you a special fucking visit, you hear?”

  “Josh, leave it,” Adi said warningly. Marjorie appeared behind him, drawn by the loud voices. Her eyes were wide.

  “Don’t bother. You and your brother don’t have a thing to worry about,” Toby heard himself say. His voice didn’t really sound like him.

  He defaulted to his usual reaction whenever homophobic shit like this happened: he picked up his bag and walked away.

  “Damn fucking right we don’t,” Josh shouted behind him.

  “Calm down, dude.” Adi at least sounded like all he wanted was peace.

  “Seriously, bro,” Josh said, “you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Was it Toby’s imagination or did Brock sound sad? “Nothing happened.”

  Oh. Really his imagination.

  Toby’s eyes met Marjorie’s just as he heard that. Shit, he wished she hadn’t seen this. He felt light-headed. Suddenly it seemed like there wasn’t any oxygen around him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep walking. Off the stage, through the auditorium, out the door. He was an actor. He was a queen. Well, he was going to be, one day. And one thing people like him could do well was act gracefully in moments like this.

  But.

  “Nothing happened.”

  He managed to make it to the hallway before the tears spilled over.

  Brock Stubbs left school feeling a lot of things. One of those things was intense relief that Josh hadn’t suspected him of being gay—had, in fact, fulfilled his duty of friendship and backed him up. Having seen what had and still did happen to Toby—the shoves, the insults, that one time Turk Rogers and some of his hockey buddies had waited for him after school with a hockey stick—Brock had no desire to bring that down on his own head. Especially since Brock had a year and a half left and still lived at home. Toby was graduating in less than a year. He’d be fine.

  No, this wasn’t big deal. It would all blow over. Even if word did get to his parents, he’d be able to cover himself. No one knew how long they’d been doing each—doing things. He’d lost his mind for a few weeks, was all. He’d forgotten himself and now it was over and he could put the wickedly adorable Toby Rosenberg out of his mind. No harm, no foul.

  Maybe if he told himself that enough, he’d believe it.

  Because the last few weeks had been among the best of his life. Approaching Toby like that had taken every single paltry ounce of courage he’d had. He’d been pretty certain Toby liked looking at him, but whether he’d be open to doing more hadn’t been so clear.

  After all, Toby was Toby. He was fearless and creative and magnificent. Insults rolled off his tongue as easily as poetry. Whether he was acting, singing, or dancing, Toby was incredible on the stage. He was absolutely everything Brock wished he could be—fiercely independent, proud, sassy, and so, so strong.

  Not to forget gorgeous. His eyes were grey and intense, and his mouth was super soft and wide. He had this cute breathy giggle, and he made these whimpers when they kissed that drove Brock crazy. Kissing him had been his deepest daydream come true; being kissed back had been beyond dreams. As time had gone on, Brock had had little sprouts of hope that Toby had seemed to like him back. All the time they’d spent behind that blackout curtain had lit this happy little glow inside Brock, because it seemed as though his crush did like him back.

  And Brock had completely and utterly fucked it up, like he always fucked things up.

  He stopped outside the drugstore and gazed at the doors for a moment, deliberating.

  Today had been unfortunate. He hadn’t expected Josh to come looking for him, because Josh thought the theatre scene was totally gay, but he’d wanted to see if Brock needed a ride home. Brock knew he should have been caught as well as Toby, because, really, he was the one who’d started things. Toby didn’t deserve any of the shit that had happened to him or any of the shit that would happen to him once word of today reached everyone.

  But when they had been caught, and Brock’d had the chance to come clean, should have hadn’t even been in his head. He’d
reacted with total fear at being revealed, not realizing what he’d done until he’d seen Toby stumble back, a terrible expression of shock and betrayal on his face. All he could think in the moment was, People can’t know, he can’t know, my dad can’t know.

  Coward. Total, fucking, useless coward.

  Toby deserved better than him. Toby deserved better than this town. Brock deserved less than nothing.

  He went into the drugstore and bought shampoo and razor blades and shaving cream. As his total was rung up, he saw himself doing this ten years from now. Working some crappy job in Maney, maybe in the same legal office as his dad, kissing men in alleys and behind bars—or never kissing one again—buying shampoo and razor blades and shaving cream, and going home. After today, that was all he was good for.

  All of his fear and clawing guilt were dissolving into a familiar monotonous bleakness, which was preferable, if he was honest.

  When he arrived home, his dad’s car was in the driveway. He sneaked quietly into the house, listening. Raised voices came from the kitchen. Brock tiptoed up the stairs, making as little noise as possible, and deposited the shampoo and shaving cream in the bathroom.

  Something smashed downstairs.

  Brock paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Toby’s expression of shocked betrayal lingered behind his eyelids. He’d never forget it.

  He took the blades into his room and made sure the door clicked very quietly shut behind him.

  Okay, so this orienteering thing was starting any minute now, and Gigi had taken great pains to ensure he looked the part—slightly teased hair under his favourite snapback, a tight white T-shirt saying NOT TODAY SATAN layered with a flannel shirt of Brock’s, stretch denim skinny jeans (so he could walk in comfort but still look fabulous), completed by old hiking boots and a whisper of makeup to even out any blemishes.

  But there was the minor problem of his boyfriend still not being back from his parents’. Two and a half hours. What was taking him so long? Where the hell could he be? The town could be walked from one side to another in like an hour. It was impossible to get lost.

  He was lingering by Ed’s car, watching as Rosenbergs and Wongs assembled at the entrance to the park. His dad, Alan’s dad, and Alan’s grandfather were chatting off to the side, pointing out trees and foliage. Alan’s university and work buddies were bellowing (he knew it) in a group by one of their cars, while cousins from either side drifted to and from groups. The kids old enough to trek for a few hours were running around yelling in some kind of game that involved sticks. How could there be so many men at this wedding?